Green Meadows, Dark Skies
by Edelweiss Roses
Summary: It was just a butterfly. A pretty, paper butterfly gently resting against his knuckles. For half a second, Credence's heart skipped a beat. There was a witch on this ship. A witch that knew who and what he was. He turned to search for whoever sent this and found- No one. No one was there. But, Credence suspected, that he was not alone. CREWT
1. Preface - The Aftermath

Credence didn't know what he was doing here.

Actually, by all accounts, he didn't know what he was doing _alive._

He didn't know how he'd survived what had happened and he didn't know how — or when — he'd arrived on this massive ship leaving New York. His memories were just… gone. Deleted and replaced with raging wisps of darkness until, suddenly, he'd found himself staring at the evening sun setting behind the horizon.

He didn't know much. But, what he did know was this:

He was on a boat.

A boat leaving New York.

A boat leaving America.

A boat taking him God knows where.

Nausea bubbled wickedly within the pit of his empty stomach. Had one of the witches from the subway transfigured it into a cauldron? If they had, surely they must have been brewing something evil.

Credence had never left American soil before. He'd never even ventured outside his own neighborhood.

And the only ocean he knew?

It wasn't the Atlantic.

No. It was that greedy parasite that had somehow burrowed within him without his knowledge, suckling on his magic like a newborn babe. It suffocated him. Drowned his body, his mind, his soul underneath a swirling sea of endless night with no escape. Down there, Credence had nothing — no one — but himself.

And he wasn't exactly pleasant company, was he?

He averted his gaze, catching his reflection staring back up at him from the old leather of his shoes.

How was it that these worthless hand-me-downs were in better condition than the tatters that were his own life?

Credence was homeless. Penniless. He had no friends that he could rely on and his mentor had betrayed him. His family had been torn apart and his mother—

Credence gripped the ship rails tightly, focusing his attention on the receding skyline and not on— Not on _that._

Instead, his thoughts wandered in the direction of something far less disturbing: he had nearly died.

Well, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, a part of him _had_ died. He was a monster amongst monsters. A creature that even the wicked feared.

A whimper nestled amongst his despair. His eyes closed, tight enough to see stars flickering on the backs of his eyelids. His knuckles turned bone white.

Credence loved magic.

Loved it like nothing else in this flawed yet astounding world. He knew that it was sinful. Knew that it was wrong. Knew that it went against God's ineffable design.

And yet… something had pulled him in the direction of witches. A feeling that couldn't be named, let alone explained, had taken him by the arm and underneath Mr. Graves' guiding hand. Credence had been content with becoming a member of the Damned.

Why? The answer was simple.

Because he had been happy. He had had purpose. He had belonged.

But, he didn't, did he? _Belong._

He didn't deserve to be a part of such wonders. He was the Devil's Spawn: an unholy demon forged in the fiery depths of Hell. His only purpose? To spread death and destruction to everyone that crossed his path. There was no magic in his world.

The ship rails _cracked._ They _bent._ They _snapped_. But, most of all, they contorted into shapes unattainable by mortal hand underneath the sheer weight of his raw _power._

New York disappeared behind the horizon.

And Credence didn't know what to do.

* * *

It wasn't often that Newt Scamander found himself speechless.

Breathless? Of course.

Many times.

He often found himself enraptured by his magical creatures to the point where his lungs ceased to function and his legs gave way from underneath him. There were even times where his tongue glued itself to the top of his mouth. But he still had his hands. He still had his thoughts. He could still speak… well, _so to speak._

But, shocked so hard to the core that the only thoughts swirling around his head were just… gone?

Today was the first for that.

Newt tightened his grip around his suitcase and stared. His mouth hung agape. There, on the ship's edge—

 _Credence._

It wasn't much of a surprise _per se_ that the poor, unfortunate Obscurial that was Credence Barebone survived. Back underneath that wretched subway, something… peculiar had happened. A curious wisp of gray, reaching towards the clouds. It was small. It was easy to miss. It was most assuredly _nothing_. So, Newt had held his tongue. Even though he knew, _most assuredly_ , that it wasn't.

He didn't know how it was possible. The Obscurus had all but been obliterated and yet… somehow, he just knew, somewhere deep down in the darkest recesses of his bones, that this wasn't going to be the last time he saw Credence.

He just hadn't expected to find him _here._

But if Newt had learned anything from his creatures, he knew that now was not the time to approach.

So, Newt pivoted on his heel and forced himself back downstairs.

But just before he could return to his cabin, something caught his eye. A grin spread across his features. He had an idea. A wondrous, fantastically splendid idea. Even though he knew that he couldn't — shouldn't — approach Credence… not now, so soon after what had happened… perhaps he could send something his way that could—

Well, it wouldn't _fix_ anything.

But maybe it would make it just a little bit better.

* * *

Credence was falling apart.

He cried for everything that had happened to him. He cried for everything that he had done. But, most of all, he cried because he didn't know what was to come next. He was alone. There was no one left to tell him what he should do.

He had never had that type of freedom before. Or was that freedom a curse?

The rails further warped underneath his grasp. They twisted. They curled. They screamed and they shuddered until they resembled more of a piece of abstract genius than they did as a part of the transatlantic ship.

His magic extended forward. It rippled the water underneath the propellers, boiling the ocean and causing the ship to rock and churn so violently that Credence nearly tumbled overboard.

The Obscurus slithered. It reacted to his pain and feasted upon his despair.

A small part of him realized that he needed to calm down lest he do something rash. Something… destructive.

But he didn't know how to do that either.

So, he prayed. Maybe not for God to have mercy on him. He had long since abandoned that hope. But maybe the Almighty, in all His kindness, would have mercy on the people whose lives Credence was just about to wreck and strike him down before he could.

But thunder and lightning didn't flutter across his fingers.

It was just a butterfly.

A pretty, ivory-colored paper butterfly gently resting against his knuckles.

For half a second, Credence's heart skipped a beat. There was a witch on this ship. A witch that knew who and what he was. A witch that had deliberately sent this abomination—

He froze.

If the paper butterfly was an abomination, then what was he?

He turned to search for the witch or wizard who'd sent this and found—

No one.

No one was there.

But, Credence suspected, that he was not alone.

* * *

 **Greetings, my loveliest lovelies and darling-iest darlings ! I'm your author, Frankie, and I'm honored to present to you my first fic on here in about a half a decade ! I first got my start on Fanfiction, and everything has changed since then, so who knows whether I'll be staying with this website or posting exclusively on Ao3? Either way, I'm very excited to be cross-posting my fics here to reach a broader audience. Technically this fic has already reached its completion on Ao3, but since I'm currently editing, I thought it'd be fun to post it chapter-by-chapter here !**

 **Please leave your comments and constructive criticisms below ! All comments, big and small, are welcome !**

 **I am also _edelweissroses_ on Ao3 and Tumblr. **


	2. Overboard and Overhead

The transatlantic ship _The Wailing Whirlwind_ was neither ridiculously large nor small — perhaps 500 by 500 feet with no more than 200 passengers and 250 crewmen on board at all times. The magnificent vessel was built to withstand the open ocean and long, tedious journeys; therefore, whatever space that wasn't being used to carry people and packages, were dedicated towards completing their passage as safely and efficiently as possible.

The engine room, adjacent to the sweltering hot boiler, was filled with soot-covered men in grease-stained overalls and scuffed leather boots worn for so many years that not even the best shoe shiners could bring back its luster. A damaged piece of ship railing, somehow escaping pre-departure inspections, had been brought down by one of these hard workers and discarded in the far corner while a replacement was being searched for.

The service deck was located above. The workmen's cabins were absurdly compact however, the nearby laundry room was huge and the medical quarters matched it in size. There was even a little morgue situated beside it in case some tragic workplace accident occurred or, more likely, one of their elderly passengers passed away in the middle of the night.

Taking up the other half of the ship was the cargo hold, containing hundreds — if not thousands — of shipping containers. They contained a little bit of everything: from processed wheat and preserved corn to scrap metal and typewriter ribbons.

The upper levels contained the passenger cabins which connected to the top deck through six separate stairwells.

The topmost deck was absolutely magnificent. Grander than any simple ferry or private yacht departing New York's famed ports. There was a bustling gourmet kitchen swarmed with foreign chefs and waitresses that served a moderate range of cuisines. Adjacent to it was a dining area connected to an open ballroom where the on-board singers and bands played day and night.

There were little stores too that dotted the area. Some sold toiletries that may have been carelessly forgotten by passengers prior to departure. Others advertised fine jewelry — diamond necklaces and sapphire earrings — that well-off husbands were pressured into buying by eager salesmen for their landside beaus.

Fine examples of capitalism and consumerist culture aside, a small library and other places of entertainment to keep the passengers from going stir-crazy were also located nearby.

Credence wished he could have weaved through the refined crowds above.

To have been caught laughing over a bottle of bubbling champagne. To have dined upon freshly steamed seafood, fine imported cheeses, and decadent mille-feuilles. To have been conflicted over whether to select a golden ring or a silver one for his patiently waiting paramour. To have charmed foreigners and listened to their fantastic tales. To have thumbed through the works of Nathaniel Hawthorne and Mary Shelley and conducted intense discussions afterwards amongst his peers.

Credence wished to have danced and laughed and to have lived any type of life except the one he had.

No, instead he found himself within the laundry room, huddled within a cabinet.

His knobby knees were pulled against his chest and his scarred hands covered his mouth. Something painfully dug into his back. His broad shoulders ached. His feet were slowly going numb. Tears burned his eyes.

The paper butterfly vacated his lapel and fluttered around his face.

Credence had only just summoned the courage to vacate his sleeping quarters that morning. It was nothing more than a cramped storage closet full of bottled chemicals and spare uniforms that made him sleep more upright than not, but it suited his purposes just fine. He wasn't picky. However, when he had just finished untangling his legs from the business end of a mop, one of the laundresses had burst in unexpectedly with a large bundle of stained sheets.

Credence's entire life passed before his eyes.

And it looked strangely like an entourage of middle-aged women.

They had swarmed the laundry room with carts and arms full of fabric and linen needing to be washed, granting Credence enough time and chaos to stuff himself into the nearest cabinet and remain unnoticed.

An hour had already passed and the pandemonium was only just beginning to simmer down.

The sound of footsteps neared.

Wood creaked as someone leaned up dangerously close against his sanctuary, switching on the faucet above. Water whooshed through the pipes, managing to drown out the sound of Credence's heart beating rapidly behind his eardrums. A treacherous whimper nestled deep within his throat, waiting patiently like a coiled snake for the right moment to strike.

Credence pressed his trembling hands tighter against his mouth. Ice-cold fear pierced through his fingers and evaporated into even colder darkness.

He was going to be discovered.

This was it. This was the end. Any moment now, they were going to throw open the door and drag him in front of a wave of cheering spectators, whipping him half to death with his own belt before throwing him overboard.

He wasn't ready to die again.

The butterfly perched itself upon his knuckles, rubbing its paper legs soothingly against his skin.

Credence closed his eyes and wished that Modesty was here instead to hold his hand.

But she was never going to do that again, was she?

Modesty was gone. From the moment he'd watched New York disappear with the sunset, she had become beyond his reach.

No, that wasn't true.

It was from the moment he'd watched her shrink away from him, screaming in fear. He was no longer Credence, Modesty's big brother. He was Credence, the monster who had murdered their mother.

The footsteps passed.

Credence didn't breathe. He still wasn't in the clear yet.

To imagine that three days had already come and gone since Credence first found himself aboard _The Wailing Whirlwind._

Since he obviously hadn't purchased a ticket (although he checked his pockets, just in case), he didn't possess a cabin of his own. Thus, not even an hour into his journey, Credence had begun his adventure figuring out how to become an efficient stowaway.

Thankfully, Modesty (back when she had been _Claire Williams_ and not _Modesty Barebone_ ) had been a street rat. And, lucky for him, she hadn't been above sharing her secrets.

Modesty's family hadn't been able to keep track of how many children they'd had.

This wasn't speculation. This was public fact, written down in official court records when they'd relinquished custody of their youngest daughter.

Modesty had been locked out her home. Again. By the time she'd testified before the Judge, she'd been more accustomed with living in the metro tunnels than in her own bed. Her parents had collapsed into their usual booze-induced coma, and she'd just shrugged and headed back to her hovel.

But what was different about this time was that someone had noticed her.

A couple of good Samaritans had spotted her sleeping underneath a dirty metro bench and had escorted her to the police station.

Credence remembered being brought there with Ma to meet his new sister, handcuffed to a desk and scowling after her latest escape attempt.

When they'd become close, she'd talked more and more about her life before she was Modesty.

And Credence remembered her advice on how to survive when there was no one else to turn to.

Step 1. _Find a safe place to hide._

There were always workers sweating in the engine room so, he couldn't exactly hide down there. While peaceful and quiet in the evening, the upper deck was usually filled with chattering travelers in daylight which didn't exactly bode well for someone wishing to go about unnoticed. The cabins were also out of the question. They were already filled.

The cargo hold had seemed tempting enough; but, as it turned out, that area was surprisingly well-guarded with armed men stationed outside every viable entrance. Perhaps the heightened security was to prevent stowaways?

Ha!

So, Credence had ended up exploring the service quarters. He had tried the janitorial closets and miscellaneous storage areas at first, but they were used all too frequently. He had only just moved into the laundry room, but clearly _that_ situation wasn't working out. Stepping foot into the overworked medical bay would only spell out disaster which meant—

 _The Morgue._

The last of the exhausted laundresses exited through the door.

Credence waited a few extra minutes in case someone had forgotten something behind.

With bated breath, he cautiously opened the cabinet.

The paper butterfly returned to his lapel.

Looking around the clean sheets, towels, and table linens, Credence determined that he was completely and utterly alone. He pulled himself out of the cramped cabinet, rubbed his sore back, and stretched his aching muscles.

Then bolted towards the door.

He flew down the halls, surprisingly light and silent on his feet for a man of his considerable height, and dashed into the empty Morgue.

Barely anyone used this room. It was too unsettling, too creepy. The faintest chill hung in the air and the foul stench of death permeated the floor; but it was close enough to the stairway leading up deck. It was close enough to escape.

Credence slid down the wall adjacent to the closed door and stared at the human-sized filing cabinets. A shiver ran down his back at the mere thought of what, or who, could be contained in there.

Had Ma been put into one of those things? Stuffed away and forgotten to the darkness with nothing but cold steel and stagnant air for company?

Credence turned away his gaze.

In the farthest corner he could spot the faintest outline of a spiderweb. It was filled with hollow cocoons of victims already sucked dry, their remains acting as a reminder to those who walked without giving err to caution.

A tiny green lizard wandered blindly into its path.

Credence watched with disgusted fascination as the pale, spindly arachnid descended upon the creature, trapped before it could know what was going on. The lizard fought and struggled for its life. Valiant as it was though, it only managed to entangle itself further until it too was trapped in a silvery cocoon.

Credence closed his eyes tight and pulled his legs back up against his chest. Revulsion crawled up his throat. He'd have to find a broom or something from one of the supply closets and knock that nasty thing down. The sooner it was gone, the better.

The paper butterfly fluttered across his knuckles.

Credence flipped over his hand and watched as the butterfly crawled back and forth across his scarred skin. It rubbed its tiny feet over the harsh ridges, soft and soothing. Curious little thing it was trying to comfort him.

"Stay close to me," he whispered, stroking a gentle finger down its back.

He cast a cautious glance towards the spiderweb.

"I don't want you getting caught up there, okay?"

The creature rubbed its face.

Credence almost smiled.

But he hadn't done that in years; perhaps, he had forgotten how.

So, he just stroked down the paper butterfly's back again and murmured, "Cute."

That was until his stomach clenched.

Step 2. _Find Food_

Credence hadn't eaten properly in days.

Scavenging food from kitchen scraps was proving far more difficult than he'd initially expected. The area always seemed to be in constant use and, most of the time, he was only able to find crumbs anyways. Perhaps a slice of vegetable or bruised pear here and there, but never anything of substance. Nothing that could satiate the growing pains inside his belly.

Sometime soon he would have to venture upstairs and scrounge the bins for a meal.

Maybe this time he'd be lucky and find a sandwich crust.

All things considered though, it didn't matter whether Credence found anything to eat or not. His comfort wasn't a priority, only his survival. He had about, maybe, four or five days left until he really started feeling the effects of starvation.

He knew so from experience.

To think that only a week ago, Modesty had been sneaking up into his room with an apple stuffed underneath her skirts after Credence had been sent to bed without dinner. She'd kept lookout while he'd quickly scarfed it down. When they'd realized that they'd still had to deal with the core after, they'd plotted together to dispose of it during morning chores when everyone was still asleep and to keep the evidence hidden within Credence's shoe until then.

Credence flexed his foot.

He missed her so much.

The paper butterfly, as if sensing the direction his thoughts were traveling, flew off his fingers and balanced itself on his nose.

It worried about him.

As ridiculous of a notion it was, it worried about him.

Could a creature breathed into life from magic instead of God's will even feel such emotion?

The answer didn't matter. Whether it did or did not, what Credence knew for certain was that the butterfly kept him from falling into an ocean of despair.

It was his companion: a source of light and pleasantness that kept the shadows from creeping in. It followed him wherever he went. Whenever he walked, it would settle upon his lapel. Whenever he rested, it would crawl around happily across his marred hands.

The butterfly would flutter around his face whenever he was distressed. It would even brush its wings against his nose from time to time to wake him from a nightmare. In return, Credence protected it from getting squashed underneath wayward feet or drenched in ocean spray.

The paper butterfly was a godsend.

However…

Who had sent it? And where on this ship were they?

It frustrated and confounded Credence to no end. They must have wanted to meet him, otherwise why send over the paper butterfly at all? He would have fallen to his knees in gratitude if they would've only taken the time to reach out to him. Surely, they must have possessed the ability to locate him.

Or was that not normal amongst witches?

Back in New York, Credence had quickly learned that Mr. Graves always had a method of seeking him out and catching him conveniently unawares. Credence had been frightened to the point of near-constant anxiety because of it. To be walking down the sidewalk, pamphlets in hand, only to be grabbed by the collar of his shirt and dragged into an alleyway.

Perhaps it was Mr. Graves who had sent the butterfly?

Nonsense.

His mentor had abandoned him. Cast him aside like a broken plaything that he had gotten bored of. That was, until he had discovered what Credence was.

Cold, malicious delight shuddered through him at the memory. He remembered that shocked look in Mr. Graves' eyes as he realized his error and quickly rescinded all his cruel words in a last-ditch attempt to win back his favor.

For once in his life, Credence had been in control.

And he'd wanted Mr. Graves to pay for what he'd done.

The paper butterfly swatted his cheek with its wing.

After the momentary shock had passed of realizing that his life had reached enough of a rock-bottom to the point of getting slapped by butterflies, Credence guided the offending creature back onto his finger and chastised, "That wasn't very nice."

The butterfly fluttered its wings and curtly turned its back to him.

"The cold shoulder?" Credence gently poked its side, "Really?"

The butterfly plopped down.

"Mr. Graves definitely didn't send you," he ultimately decided and rested his head back against the wall, "He would've— Would've sent a dragon or something fearsome. Not a stubborn, little…"

Was the witch someone who had heard of the Obscurial's exploits and admired his dastardly deeds from afar? Had they applauded the senseless death and destruction that he'd left behind?

Credence shivered. He hoped he hadn't attracted a dangerous witch like _that_ to him.

Perhaps it was someone from the subway incident?

No, everyone there had tried to kill him. Everyone except Miss Goldstein and—

Credence's heart stopped.

"It was him."

The man with the kind meadow green eyes.

The man who had spoken softly to him, who had asked if he could come over. The man who had looked upon him not with fear or reverence but concern. The man who had been a shining ray of hope that had momentarily pierced through the darkness. The man whose outstretched hand had almost helped pull Credence out of the ocean that was the Obscurus.

A sob ripped through him.

He quickly pressed his hand against his mouth, muffling his relief so as not to be discovered.

The paper butterfly crawled up onto his forehead, peeking its head over his brow and rubbing its tiny legs over the dark hairs.

"Him," Credence repeated, his choked voice echoing through the silence of the morgue, "It was him."

He looked up towards the butterfly, "Wasn't it?"

His rescuer.

His savior.

His bonafide hero.

 _Him._

It _had_ to be him.

But if it was… then why hadn't the kind witch tried to talk to him? Why hadn't he reached out to help him now? Where was he when he needed him most?

Credence swallowed and slowly stood up, determination settling in his shoulders.

Step 3. _Find help._

* * *

When night fell, and all the evening festivities wrapped up, Credence ventured above deck to stretch out his legs.

The salty scent of the ocean tickled his nose and the wind tousled his cropped hair.

The paper butterfly, avoiding getting swept away in the breeze, fastened itself tightly onto Credence's lapel.

The only thing Credence hated was the inconvenient hour. The stars twinkled in the twilight sky and the ocean conducted a gentle melody of crashing waves and mysterious chirping. Sea-foam sprayed up the sides and slickened the floors. To anyone else, it would've been a picture-perfect portrait of serenity.

But to Credence, it was anything but.

It was too dark, too cold. It reminded him too much of the monster inside his heart.

Credence sighed and reached inside his coat.

His mouth had watered to the point of nearly drooling when he'd spotted the shining scarlet skin nestled against the bottom of the waste-bin. He'd grabbed it, just like how Eve has pilfered from the Tree of Knowledge, and _run_.

He couldn't believe his luck.

So, Credence settled himself at one of the outside benches. He took a bite and another and another—

When a flash of blue caught his attention.

Credence dropped the apple.

At the opposite end of the ship, the kind-eyed witch stretched.

He hadn't seemed to notice Credence.

No, the witch simply placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the empty black depths of the ocean, curiously peering through the missing section of bars.

Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe all those sleepless nights were finally taking their toll. Maybe—

The paper butterfly at Credence's lapel fluttered its wings excitedly.

It _was_ him.

Anxiety pierced Credence's heart.

It wrapped its fiendish claws around him and squeezed out every fresh breath of air within his lungs. His hands trembled at his sides. His vision blurred, threatening to spill over at a moment's notice and choke his throat with disgusting snot.

His savior was here.

But he wasn't ready for this.

Not to say that some _large and hopeful_ part of him didn't yearn for this meeting.

Despite all the pain it caused him and the knowledge he now possessed, Credence still wanted nothing more than to be accepted back into that wonderful world of magic and fantasy. He desired it. He wanted it _more_ than anything else.

He wanted to cast spells and brew potions and fly on brooms and whatever else witches and wizards did. He wanted to see the world, not through the sorrow-filled gaze of an impoverished orphan, but through the wizened eyes of a skilled sorcerer. Credence wanted to live and to escape the wickedness of his heart and thoughts, desperately so.

But seeing the kind witch in person now, when the last time they had encountered each other was underneath that despicable metro station… Seeing him here when the last time they had met each other's gaze was when Credence had nearly died.

In that instant, Credence no longer found himself on _The Wailing Whirlwind_.

The heavy scent of mold and noxious gasoline permeated the air. Credence pressed his knees against his chest, rocking anxiously back and forth, listening to the zap and crackle of electricity passing through the active railways. The walls seemed to be closing in, the distant _drip drip_ dripping of a leaky pipe reminding him of everything he had done and the horror of transforming into the Obscurus on purpose.

He had just been _so_ angry.

All that time, Mr. Graves had just been using him. Empty promises and hollow embraces that had meant the world to Credence. But when his guardian angel had slapped him during his darkest hour, when he'd been _begging_ for help, he'd realized that they had all been lies to find the toy that he'd desired. Mr. Graves had never cared about him. He'd never intended to save him, a useless _squib_.

Until it turned out that he wasn't.

He was an Obscurial. The Obscurial that they'd been searching all of New York City for.

Mr. Graves had been ready then to accept Credence back with open arms, like nothing he'd said mattered.

However, Credence was not the type of man to forgive and forget.

Credence had wanted Mr. Graves to _hurt_. To lose all hope. To make him feel the betrayal in his heart and the fury in his bones. Credence hadn't wanted to be Credence anymore.

He had wanted to become a _monster._

And a monster he had become.

 _Oh God Above, what had he done?_

Credence wanted to scream, but no sound came out. He went to press his trembling hands over his face, but when he saw his Ma's blood dripping down his fingers, he found that he could only stare in horror instead. The darkness started washing over him again. Ice-cold hands pulling him down, down, down—

Until green eyes flooded his vision. _He_ had come to his rescue.

Not for the Obscurus. Not for the power.

He had come for _him._

Credence whimpered. The paper butterfly fluttered anxiously before his face and landed on his nose.

Within an instant, he found himself back on the ship.

But the kind-eyed witch was still there.

 _No no no no—_

Credence ran his shaking hands over his face and buried his nails deep into his scalp. A searing pain pierced his skin, grounding him further in the moment. Something warm and thick and sticky dripped down his cheek.

He needed to run.

He couldn't do this.

What if he was wrong? What if the witch was like all the others that wanted to hurt him? What if he was like Mr. Graves and wanted to use him? What if? _What if? What if?!_

It wasn't as if Credence possessed a good judgement of character.

He jumped to his feet.

He needed to return to the morgue — to his sanctuary — _now_. To hide himself where he could be safe and where no one could hurt him.

What was he thinking? Fooling himself with wishful thoughts that he could find help and be accepted back into the magical community with open arms? That somehow this witch was different from the others that had only wanted Credence for his power or to have him destroyed?

Stupid, Credence, stupid. That optimistic heart would only get him into trouble.

He couldn't trust anyone. Not anymore. He was better off alone, wasn't he?

He took one step forward to flee, when the kind-eyed witch suddenly stepped through the gap in the railing.

And fell overboard.

* * *

"Shh, Mummy's here. It's alright, sweet one. Everything is totally, completely alright."

Newt treaded water, clutching the bleeding creature to his chest.

"Oh, you precious boy—" he paused and recounted the number of tentacles, "Girl. You precious girl. This ship is far too big for you to crush, darling. What are you doing all the way out here anyways, hmm?"

Kraken hatching season was upon them, certainly.

But hatchlings weren't supposed to venture out this deep into the ocean this soon. It was _nowhere_ near time for migration to start and the waters were far too cold to sustain an infant. It was a puzzling mystery and Newt intended to solve it.

Well, whenever he figured out just how to get back on board the ship first.

 _Typical scatter-brained Newt Scamander at your service._

What had he thinking?

Diving overboard without bringing some sort of rope to hoist himself back onto the deck was a death sentence, especially at this relatively advanced hour. Although, Newt had had half a mind about him to discard his coat and scarf first before jumping into the freezing ocean. He thought he deserved a pat on the back for that one.

Now, if only he hadn't left his wand in his coat pocket…

Cradling the Kraken infant against his chest, Newt floated along the quiet waves beside the ship.

The ship that was slowly coasting along without him on it.

 _What a mess you've gotten yourself into this time, Scamander._

A mysteriously flickering light on deck pulled his attention.

The ocean angrily foamed and the once-delicate breeze transformed into a howling squall. It crashed Newt against the metal underside of the ship, forcing seawater into his lungs in place of breath. He quickly pivoted his body and shielded the frightened creature between his arms. Blood gushed rapidly from his nose and, just as he thought he was about to be pulled under, the waves dragged him back out to the open sea.

That was, before repeating the entire process all over again.

Newt scrambled at every chance for air. His legs paddled furiously underneath him, struggling to keep himself upright and afloat. He may not have been the strongest of blokes, however he'd always had impeccable endurance; and right now, as he was tugged every which way, he was bloody thankful for that.

A large shadow hurriedly crossed the platform, running as if the Devil himself was nipping at their heels, and stopped right around the area where Newt had jumped off moments ago.

Wait.

Did that mean…?

"Ah, yes! Hello!" Newt called up to the dark figure above him, unable to make out their features due to the late hour, the height, and the fact that the roiling sea was currently trying its best to drown him, "Could you, by any chance, lend me a hand and pull me up?"

Silence came as his only answer.

The growing ocean waves thrashed violently and threw him up against the hull once more. Newt tasted copper in his mouth now.

Had the person not heard? Perhaps he hadn't shouted loud enough?

The Kraken wrapped its tentacles around his neck… and his waist… and around each of his legs. Oh, this poor creature was definitely no older than a week if it had already reached the size of an average human man.

"Quickly _please!_ A rope or anything to pull me up if you could," he shouted desperately, "I need to get back to my cabin. Urgently. I have an injured creature that needs immediate attention!"

The figure disappeared.

Newt's heart sank.

But right when he'd started seriously considering whether an infant Kraken's suckers were strong enough to climb up the side of a metal ship with a bumbling wizard in tow, a life preserver was thrown overboard.

Newt shuddered with relief. Or was that from the cold? He couldn't tell.

The churning waves rapidly died down when Newt latched onto the yellow ring and lifted it around himself. He tugged on the rope, showing that he was safe inside, when a sharp jerk suddenly started hoisting him up.

"It's alright, sweet one," Newt gently cooed to the young Kraken, "Just a moment in the cool air and then Mummy will get you somewhere safe, don't you worry. I'm here to help."

He just needed to reach inside his coat, laying carelessly abandoned above deck, and to his wand before erasing this poor, well-intentioned Muggle's memory first. Such a pity that a good deed had to be paired with such a fate.

They reached the edge of the deck.

A scarred hand stretched out.

Newt quickly accepted it, the coarse bumps feeling _sensational_ against his palms, and stared into the impossibly dark eyes of his savior.

 _"Credence."_

* * *

 **Please leave your comments and constructive criticisms below ! All comments, big and small, are welcome here !**

 **I'm also _edelweissroses_ on Ao3 and Tumblr.**


	3. Nothing Short of a Miracle

"Credence."

The kind witch remembered his name.

Nothing separated them; Credence stood on the wooden deck and Newt hung off the ships edge, linked together only by their entwined hands.

With just those few inches between them, Credence could finally get a good, long look at his savior. It was better than that split-second moment in New York before everything had all went wrong.

Newt's tawny hair, drenched after that midnight dive, clung onto his tanned forehead. Little iridescent droplets of seawater dribbled down his freckled face.

A few of them caught against his eyelashes, reflecting rainbows in the meadow green of his eyes.

Credence's heart fluttered.

A thread-bare cotton shirt clung to Newt's chest, betraying the galaxies of freckles and scars that laid underneath. The over-sized arms and loose collar of the garment reminded Credence of the clothing worn by the Victorians a couple decades ago or, perhaps, the Colonials a few hundred years prior.

It was dated. It was positively old-fashioned yet, suited the wizard perfectly.

Brown tailored trousers hung at his hips. Leather boots were fastened tightly at his feet. Credence could faintly spy mismatched socks peeking out over the laces — one canary yellow and the other clouded gray.

Even when drenched to the bone and shivering from the freezing cold, Credence thought that Newt was _gorgeous._

He possessed a supernatural sort of beauty. Comprised of nymph-ish oranges and woodland fae greens and sunset pinks. It reminded Credence of the fairy tales and fables he'd once read underneath his bed back when he had been more rebellious and willing to challenge his Ma.

And that smile.

Heaven be damned, that _smile._

Perfect teeth stained with blood, yet still somehow shining as if he had just bitten off a slice of the sun itself.

God help him, this enchanting witch remembered his _name._

Credence would've reveled in this wondrous moment had Newt been safe on board instead of currently being attacked by a— _a giant squid?!_

"I—," Credence's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, "… uhm… you have—"

Why couldn't he say anything?

And, perhaps even more importantly, why wasn't Newt panicking? He looked positively giddy! As if he had just witnessed the second coming of Christ himself.

"Yes?" Newt waited patiently, still beaming that glorious, perfect smile at him.

"…s—squid."

"Scamander actually," Newt tilted his head, perplexed, "Newton Scamander. However, I much prefer Newt, if you wouldn't mind."

His confusion must have showed because Newt's eyes widened a moment later, his smile dropping into a small, sheepish 'o.'

"Ah right, you must mean this wonderful girl," he pulled himself fully onto the ship, releasing Credence from his grasp. Newt smoothed his hands tenderly down the creature's vermilion skin, as if he were cradling a newborn babe instead of a creature of the deep, and frowned at the tentacle that hung limply around his shoulder.

"I believe she got that leg right there caught up in one of the propellers, the poor dear," he said, "Thank Merlin the females of her species produce this wonderful anticoagulant solution secreted from their skin. You see those tiny little dots that look like freckles right there? They ooze out this clear goo that—ah, never mind. Wouldn't want to bore you with the details."

Newt leaned closer, face-to-face with the squid in his arms, and practically cooed, "But, a baby has no business being out here trying to crush ships 100 times her size. In a couple years? Perhaps. But now? Certainly not! Oh, but, she's such a beautiful little creature, isn't she?"

Newt knelt down onto bended knee and rummaged through his discarded coat. It seemed to be a little difficult balancing the _GIANT SQUID_ attached to his body; but, with an exclamatory, " _A-ha!_ " the witch pulled out his wand.

Credence jolted backwards.

This was all too much for him to handle.

Newt. The Giant Squid. And now, having a wand inches away from his face? The last time he had seen one up so close, it had been pointed at him.

The butterfly, prudent as always, distracted him right on queue.

Paper and water didn't exactly mix, so to avoid getting splashed by Newt's exaggerated gesturing, the butterfly fluttered off Credence's lapel and landed on the back of his neck. Credence twitched and stepped further backwards.

The tiny paper legs tickled.

He reached around and beckoned the butterfly onto his finger, choosing to shield it with his hand instead.

"I'll need to expand the aquarium and transfer the Kelpie eggs into a smaller habitat. Been meaning to do that anyways. Do I have enough fish to feed her until we reach port?" Newt continued obliviously and cast a heating spell over himself to dry his clothes.

He slipped on his coat and looped his scarf around his neck.

"I did pack an emergency supply in the event we encountered rough waters," he hummed, "On that note, I need to readjust water temperatures and salinity appropriate for a growing—"

Credence couldn't follow everything that he was saying. However, after a quick flick of Newt's wand, the giant squid was suddenly hovering mid-air, encased inside a bubble of sloshing sea water.

"Oh, sweet one. Will you give me your permission to harvest just the teensiest vial of your healing essence? There's this associate of mine down at Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary who would love to get his hands on it. You see—"

Newt continued to babble nonsensically to the giant squid. With the floating bubble obediently following behind, he descended the stairs towards the passenger cabins and left Credence… alone.

Whatever way Credence expected their reunion to go, it certainly wasn't like _this._

The wind picked up.

A sudden chill passed through Credence's body. Wrapping his arms tightly around himself for warmth, he shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot-to-foot. Nauseating doubt creeped into his heart, uncertain about the witch's intentions towards him.

The paper butterfly anxiously tapped its feet against his knuckles, trying their best to distract him.

Twice Newt had seen him on this ship and twice he had turned away from him.

Back in New York, he had extended his hand and said that he had wanted to help. That heartbreaking sincerity in the witch's voice had given Credence just enough hope that maybe… maybe he could be saved. Enough hope that he had found himself reaching out towards him until everything had went horribly, _horribly_ wrong.

Had he lied?

Or had he sent the paper butterfly and considered that good deed as good enough?

"Credence."

He blinked through tears.

Newt was standing on the top step of the stairwell, a puzzled expression pulling his lips down into a frown.

"Aren't you coming?"

Credence didn't respond.

"Oh, I mean… erm…" The confidence and ease that Newt had displayed seconds ago had disappeared completely.

Quiet hesitation entered his voice in its place.

"...if you need more space, that's perfectly fine. After what happened in—" Newt winced and started twirling a strand of his hair, "Well, ah… Being alone is probably what you want right now, isn't it? I can just continue keeping my— my distance and whatnot. Please take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."

Newt paused, his eyes downcast.

Credence's heart thumped anxiously in his chest.

"I meant what I said, you know. I'd like to help you, Credence," Newt said, awkward yet genuine, "If you'll let me."

Newt had thought that he had wanted to be left alone.

That was the reason why he had steered clear of him this entire time. He wasn't avoiding him or taking back his offer or considering the paper butterfly as aid enough. Newt was giving Credence the freedom to approach him whenever he was ready. Instead of forcing his help upon him, he was letting Credence—

A lump formed in his throat.

He was letting _Credence_ make that choice.

After finding himself on _The Wailing Whirlwind_ , without memory or any recollection of what transpired after the subway incident, Credence had crumpled to pieces.

Had Newt approached then, Credence probably would have run away or jumped into the ocean himself.

Granted, he had also just thought of fleeing back to the morgue moments before Newt had flung himself overboard. But panic attacks could do that to a man. Fool himself into believing his doubts and anxieties, sending him running in the opposite direction from what he desired most out of fear of it all going wrong.

Under more normal circumstances, Credence couldn't function without someone else holding his hand.

Perhaps that was one of the many reasons why he had remained living with his Ma for so long. Credence was no good by himself. He needed people to tell him what to do and what to think. To grab him by the arm and guide him upon the right path. Otherwise, he'd just be pathetic and worthless. Stuck wide-eyed and afraid, staring down endless roads of possibilities.

Credence took a tentative step forward.

And made his first decision.

"Can… I join you?"

Newt beamed with all the light of the rising sun.

"Why I can't think of a more fantastic idea."

* * *

Progress.

Wonderful progress.

When he had sent over the paper butterfly, Newt had been of the reasoning that Credence hadn't needed the meddling interference of the wizarding world so soon after— well, after what had happened. Newt hadn't wanted to overwhelm him or potentially scare him off. So, he had thrust off the decision to approach off his shoulders altogether and unto Credence's. He had reasoned that Credence would come find him if, or when, he was ready.

But, during their second night at sea, that wicked seed of self-doubt had taken root inside his heart.

Newt had found himself lounging on his bunk, twirling the frayed edges of his Hufflepuff scarf around his fingers, and wondering whether what Credence had really needed wasn't space at all.

The boy was bound to have questions. This was a new and frightening world that he had found himself in. In Newt's limited experience, when Muggles found themselves exposed to wizarding society, they either rejected it for their own reality or looked upon it with awe and wonder. That was, until they were obliviated.

But Credence… he was different. He had power, and no idea what to do with it.

Perhaps, all that he'd needed was a friendly hand upon the shoulder to help him rise to his potential and control the Obscurus inside him.

But Newt had scrambled into his suitcase at the thought and put on the kettle, scalding his throat with a boiling cup of tea that hadn't the proper time to cool.

Newt wasn't Grindelwald.

He didn't want to be yet another wizard forcing his thoughts and opinions upon Credence. How pompous would he have to have been to claim to know what was best for him when Newt barely knew what was best for himself?

And yet, Newt had to acknowledge that Credence had no one to fall back on. No one to reach out to for help.

Credence had done horrible, _horrible_ things as an Obscurus. He had killed people and placed countless others in unspeakable danger. The destruction and mayhem wreaked upon New York within the past couple of days would forever leave a scar on those witches and wizards unlucky enough to have witnessed it firsthand. And yet, as tragic and stomach-churning as those crimes may have been, they were still things that Credence had little control over — if he had even known about them at all.

Credence was blameless. He wasn't entirely faultless since it had been his hand, knowing or not. But blaming Credence for his actions would have been akin to blaming a witch or wizard for whatever dastardly deeds they had committed underneath the influence of an _Imperius._ Absolutely unthinkable.

Credence had suppressed his true self for nearly two and a half decades, surviving twice as long as any other documented Obscurial in all of wizarding history. He had to have been practically on his hands and knees, begging for anything or anyone for help.

And to think, that _Gellert Grindelwald_ had been the one to answer his call.

It was heart-breaking.

Newt felt horrible for not coming to Credence's rescue sooner. He should have suspected something strange afoot. Surely, there could have been something he could have done.

But there was nothing he could do to change the past. All that he could do was agonize about the present.

Newt shook his head.

With a flick of his wand, he quickly finished putting the final touches on the aquarium he had been magically constructing for the Kraken hatchling.

He transferred over thick forests of softly swaying seaweed and conjured pieces of coral that he had been saving for a moment like this: dusty pink brains, pale yellow branches, and magnificent taupe pillars. Constructing a jagged cave of limestone and sparkling treasures, Newt welded the coral reef together until a large habitat suitable for a growing Kraken emerged before his very eyes.

Newt brought the floating bubble of seawater closer and carefully transferred the Kraken into the aquarium.

"There you go. I know, I know. It's not as big as what you're used to," Newt cooed when the adorable little Kraken, exploring her new home, stubbornly twirled around her tentacles, "But, I'll get you back to your brothers and sisters as soon as I can. I promise. Magizoologist's honor!"

He raised his palm in the air and grinned.

The Kraken stared, silently judging him.

Newt puffed out his cheeks.

"Rest that leg of yours now, darling," Newt slipped his wand into his back pocket, "I'll be back to check on you shortly."

He exited the suitcase, and closed the clasps with a loud _click_.

He placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the messy room: the notes crammed everywhere and anywhere, the trousers thrown carelessly over the port window, all that endless clutter.

Newt pulled down the pair of trousers and folded them, setting them aside.

Make it somewhat sensible in here and whatnot before he brought Credence in.

As much as Newt wanted to show Credence that not everything about the wizarding world was bad, taking him down into his private sanctuary now was far too soon. It had been different when it was only Jacob. The lovable Muggle was harmless. Besides, the situation at that particular moment in time had called for it. But Credence—

Oh, Credence.

Who knew what could happen if he became frightened in the suitcase, surrounded by all new sights and sounds? What would his reaction be when coming face-to-face with miraculous creatures found only within myth and legend? Or by all the other creatures that he had never even _heard_ of?

Newt had an unshakable duty to Credence, but he also had an obligation to keep his creatures safe. He wouldn't risk endangering either.

Thus, Newt had asked Credence to wait outside his cabin for a few minutes while he built the young Kraken's new home.

Newt cleared his throat, "You can come in now, Credence. Whenever you're ready."

A minute passed.

And then another.

Newt fiddled with his scarf, twirling the frayed edges between his fingers. He worried that Credence might have headed off, disheartened by how much time he had taken or something or other, when the door to his room slowly creaked open.

 _Merlin's Beard_.

For a man of his remarkable height, Credence possessed a gift for making himself look half his size. His broad shoulders slumped, his head bowed and his haunting black eyes quickly shifted downcast when he noticed Newt staring.

He reminded Newt of a frightened unicorn: power and grace melded into one. The subject of endless fascination by Muggles and Wizards alike, yet easily frightened by the slightest noise.

"Please," Newt coughed, "Make yourself comfortable."

Credence flinched backwards.

"Sorry," Newt inwardly winced and rubbed the back of his neck, "Feel free to move anything, by the way. I don't mind. I know it's a bit of a mess. Inspiration struck and I've spent the last couple days locked in here writing. Haven't had the time to tidy up."

He awkwardly grinned.

"I was just taking a break, actually, when I went up deck and found— well, you."

Credence didn't respond.

Quiet as a mouse, he closed the door behind him. Credence hovered for a moment, every movement small and calculated as he made his way through the path of least resistance, before finding a somewhat clean spot on the bed for him to sit.

The poor soul was stiffer than a new riding broom, fresh from the shop.

Credence clasped his knees in an alarmingly tight grip. His back remained hunched over and his hollow eyes were now trained to the tops of his weathered shoes. Smudged old blood, browned and flaking, stained his ear.

"Credence."

He sharply flinched.

That was twice now and scarcely a minute had passed.

It was like Credence was expecting to be hit for any wrong move and was perpetually bracing himself for impact. Newt's heart lurched. What sort of miserable life had he known?

"Does it hurt?"

Without moving an inch, Credence cast his gaze over.

"Your ear," Newt gestured, "I can heal that for you, if you'd like. It'd take just a moment—"

He reached around for his wand but quickly stopped as Credence's eyes widened in unmistakable panic.

"Or not," Newt dropped his hands to his sides, "That's fine too. It's your decision to make."

Silence bloomed between them.

He was _so_ not good at this.

Newt seated himself at his desk, running his hands through his hair.

"So, I— uhm," Newt swallowed thickly and loosened his scarf, "I wanted to thank you for earlier. For pulling me back on board. You were a genuine lifesaver, Credence. _Well_ , technically, the lifesaver was the real lifesaver— but, uhm, never mind that."

He fidgeted around with the fringes of his Hufflepuff scarf, braiding and twisting the soft fabric.

"What I'm trying to say is: I don't know what I would have done without you. So... thank you," Newt twirled around in his chair, causing it to loudly _squeak_ , "Although, I really hadn't pictured seeing you again while cradling a Kraken hatchling in my arms."

Credence's head whirled up. He stared at him with startled wide eyes, mouth opened just a smidgen.

"A-ha!" Newt happily clapped his hands together, "A reaction!"

Although, it really shouldn't have come as much of a surprise considering how he was raised.

" _Merlin_ , that's right," the joy of his success died.

"Krakens… exist?" Newt donned a lopsided smile, "Normally, the little ones would be swimming around the Italian coast during this time of year. I don't know what she was doing so far away from home. But I'd wager she'd escaped from poachers trying to slice off her ivory beak or remove her healing glands. Sell them for a high price on the black market."

The thought made Newt sick to his stomach.

"I'm what you'd call a Magizoologist. I study and help magical creatures whenever and wherever I can," he leaned forward, "Even jumping off moving ships into ice-cold waters apparently."

Silence.

Those haunting, skeletal eyes continued staring, unblinking.

Eyes as dark as the ocean outside and filled with just as many mysteries.

Newt clasped his hands together and sighed, averting his gaze.

"Look. I'll be perfectly honest with you. I— I'm not as good with people as I am with my creatures," he admitted, "I don't know if keeping my distance from you these past couple days was the right decision. I figured that if you wanted my help, you would come and seek me out. If I chose poorly, then I am truly sorry."

For better or for worse though, Credence _had_ sought him out. Of course, it had been to his rescue and was a decision stolen entirely out of his hands, but he had come to him and _stayed_. That had to mean something.

"And I want to help you, Credence," Newt's lowered his voice, soft and sympathetic, "I very much do. But only if you want me to. The choice is yours."

* * *

Credence absolutely needed help.

He was a monster, a villainous freak. He didn't know what was happening to him or how he could possibly control it or whether he really wanted to. Did someone like him even deserve salvation?

The only person who had ever believed that he'd deserved better was Mr. Graves.

And all he'd ever done was _lie._

"What… am I?" Credence asked quietly, needing to know the truth, "Am I… evil?"

The kind witch's eyes softened.

"No, Credence."

A breath of relief.

"I think…" Newt continued fidgeting with his scarf, "I think… you're a very good person who has experienced some very bad things."

"I'm not though," Credence blurted, eyes widening and mouth running dry as he realized what he said, and yet, he found himself unable to stop, "A good person, I mean. My Ma—She's… dead because of me. I killed her. I got angry and I—I killed her."

The kind witch fell silent.

 _Oh God Oh God Oh God_

Credence ruined it. He had tasted salvation and he'd ruined it because he couldn't keep his blasphemous mouth shut. He was going to be tossed out the door any moment now. He'd have to return to the morgue, scrounging the bins for food. Maybe if he hurried, he could find the apple he'd dropped up deck.

Newt pulled his chair over, not stopping until he was inches away from the bed.

"Did you intend to?"

"I—I don't know."

He knew that wasn't the right answer. That was reserved only for an incredulous ' _of course not!_ ' and turning his head away, offended by the insinuation. But there had been… moments. Times when he would lay awake at night, his muscles aching from the latest beating, wondering what it would be like if Ma just… disappeared.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Credence automatically reached for his belt, tears filling his eyes, "I'm sorry—"

"What—what are you doing?"

He turned in enough time to watch Newt look away. Yet, even though the witch couldn't meet his eye, his face remained etched in such genuine worry and concern that it gave Credence pause.

"I'm being sinful. Don't you—" Credence swallowed, uncertain, "Don't you need to punish me?"

"No, _Merlin's Beard_ , no," Newt's eyes widened, still not looking at him, "Credence, there's nothing that needs punishing. Even if there was, _which there isn't_ , hurting you isn't—that isn't a part of my philosophy."

Credence's hands fell to his sides.

"I don't… know you very well. I don't know what you've been through," Newt said quietly after a moment, "But I don't keep the company of dangerous creatures. That includes people."

"If I'm not dangerous… then, what am I?"

"A wizard."

Credence shivered.

"However," Newt awkwardly cleared his throat, "Something happened when you were young. You probably didn't realize it, but your magic ended up… contained. Suppressed. Whenever wizards keep their innate talents from developing like that, it's usually because it's acting as some form of protection and _temporary_. But… you see, there's this parasite called an Obscurus that feeds off magic. And when they come across a situation like yours…"

Credence gripped his knees.

"You're a wizard and an Obscurial, but you're not the Obscurus. Whatever it does insinuates nothing about your character. All that happens is that, when you become angry or upset," he paused, "All of that repressed magic is unleashed and the Obscurus takes control."

"Like with Ma," Credence glanced back at him, "Like with you."

Newt leaned backwards, startled.

"With me?"

"The subway," Credence quickly averted his gaze, "I—Mr. Graves was hurting you. I wanted him to stop. And then I—I…"

He couldn't finish.

Newt slowly rose from his chair, causing it to _squeak_ , and knelt down before him.

"Thank you, Credence," a sincere smile crossed his expression, "You've been helping me since the very beginning, haven't you?"

Green eyes met black for a split-second moment.

Until Newt tapped his chin with the back of his thumb and looked away.

"Remarkable," he hummed thoughtfully, "You, I mean. You're remarkable. Every known Obscurial in wizarding history was a child plagued by tragedy and misfortune. All documented occurrences resulted in death by the time they were 9, maybe 10."

Sorrow flickered across Newt's face, but it was quickly dispelled with a sharp shake of the head.

"But you? Yours is a story entirely new. I've never heard of anyone surviving to your age," he looked at him in awe now, "I dare say you're almost as old as me! What are you? 24? 25? I don't know what it is, but something about your magic proved enough for the Obscurus. What you are isn't dangerous or evil. _What you are is a miracle."_

The ship suddenly jerked to the side.

Credence turned ghostly white.

Tremors coursed through his icy veins and the bruising grip on his knees turned painful. Recognizing the urgency of the situation, the paper butterfly pushed off his lapel and fluttered before his face.

Mr. Graves had thought him special too.

Exceptional. A genuine _miracle._

After recognizing that swarming mass of power trapped within his pathetic, disgusting body, Mr. Graves had accepted Credence with open arms. In those last few minutes together before everything had went wrong, Mr. Graves had made him feel incredible. For just one blissful moment, Credence had believed that he was… someone important. Someone worthy of attention and love instead of the useless, sinful, good-for-nothing _freak_ that he knew himself to be.

Tears burned his eyes and blurred his vision. And yet, much to his horror, he found that he could still just make out the small tendrils of black smoke rising from his hands.

Credence whimpered in fear.

No.

Not now.

He didn't want this; but who in this world ever chooses to lose control?

Credence curled around himself and clung onto his head, eyes wide and unseeing as he plunged down into the darkest darkness imaginable. He shook, unable to stop himself or stop this _thing_ , as he drowned underneath an ocean where he couldn't breathe or cry out for help.

Look at him. What a _freak._

He was a monster. Worthless. Pathetic. No better than the gum stuck underneath a park bench.

He was nothing.

Nothing at all.

He was—

"Credence."

A light pierced through the darkness.

"Credence, it's me. It's Newt."

Newt.

The kind green-eyed witch.

That's right. He had just been sitting beside him talking about—

 _Talking about what?_

"I'm going to touch your hands now, Credence," his voice seemed closer, "If that's alright with you."

Something rough and _warm_ enveloped his scarred hands a few seconds later. Angels above, if only his Mother could see the blaspheme that Credence was now.

"Credence, it's okay. I'm here. Breathe with me. In and out. Can you do that for me? In and out."

In.

Out.

"Good. That's right, Credence. Keep breathing."

In.

Out.

"You're doing wonderful. One more time, Credence. In and out."

In.

Out.

"Excellent, Credence. You're doing fantastic," Newt's calming voice soothed, "I'm here. You're not alone. There's nothing — absolutely _nothing_ — to be ashamed of. No one is going to hurt you or judge you or take advantage of you here, you have my word. You have complete and total control, Credence."

The darkness faded.

Dazzling eyes as green as spring meadows waiting for their flowers to bloom and amber freckles dotting warm skin like stars and their constellations took its place.

Mother once told him that freckles were angel kisses. If that were true then Newt, a witch of all things, must have been revered by the Heavens.

"There you are," Newt smiled and Credence's heart skipped a beat, "Just keep breathing with me, okay? Can you do that?"

Credence slowly nodded.

"Excellent," he squeezed his hands, "I'm so sorry, Credence. This was my fault, not yours. If there's anything you need, anything you want me to do or not do, tell me and I'll follow it. No questions asked."

He was safe. He was secure. He had nothing to be afraid of.

Not when his savior was here.

"... special," Credence swallowed thickly and stared down at their entwined hands, "Mr. Graves— He used to call me special. He said that I was his miracle."

Newt stiffened.

Credence whimpered, fearing that he had said something wrong and was about to be slapped for it—but, the kind witch quickly relaxed and gently squeezed his hands.

He forced himself to breathe.

It was okay.

Newt was different.

"All these years…" Credence spoke barely above a whisper, "Ma warned me that the Devil was charming. That he would tell you all the things you wanted to hear. I knew and yet— yet I still fell for it anyways. I just… wanted to be seen and he gave me that."

Credence squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Shame feasted upon his soul, coloring his flesh burning scarlet.

"I sinned over and over and over again just to hear his praise. So that he could pat me on the back and tell me good job. I worshiped him. Devoted myself to him just to feel like I was—" he swallowed, "Like I was worth something. That I wasn't a freak."

But Mr. Graves has only desired an eager, unquestioning servant to fulfill his own selfish needs. He had never cared for Credence.

How could he have been so foolish?

"A wicked wizard took advantage of an innocent person who had just wanted to help and do good. You didn't do anything wrong, Credence," Newt said quietly, "He did."

Credence almost smiled.

Wouldn't that have been nice to believe?

* * *

 **Please leave your comments and constructive criticisms below ! All comments, big and small, are welcome here !**

 **I'm also _edelweissroses_ on Ao3 and Tumblr.**


	4. The Magizoologist's Apprentice

Newt buzzed around the cabin, energy filling his veins as much as rumpled clothes and papers filled his arms.

He could hear Mother's exasperated voice chiding in his ear.

He had known that a guest was coming over. He'd invited them, so he should have tidied up _before_ they'd arrived, not after.

But Newt had never been much of one for foresight. He figured that Credence hardly minded if he cleaned now.

However, Newt's definition of clean had always been rather… peculiar.

If someone could walk across the floors without breaking something important underneath, then Newt considered it a job well done. Therefore, it didn't _matter_ that his desk was becoming so congested with papers, clothes, and sketches that they reached the cabin roof.

The floor was spotless!

Yet, wherever his creatures were concerned, Newt deviated back towards more acceptable standards. He knew exactly which creatures needed to be fed daily or by the month. He knew which ones needed special treatment. He knew which creatures could be rehabilitated back into the wild and the ones that needed a more stable environment. He had calculated every last bit of habitat maintenance down to a science. Newt thrived off his schedule and despaired whenever real-world obligations interfered with it.

As a magizoologist, Newt was like a god of cleanliness and organization.

As a wizard…

Newt was like a tsunami within a tornado within a hurricane. He could destroy a room within a manner of minutes.

Newt gathered the last of his remaining notes together and turned around. He squared his shoulders, a sense of pride swelling inside his chest as he took a nice, long look around the cabin. Nothing except his suitcase remained on the floor.

It was officially clean.

However, as he surveyed the small room, Newt realized that he had overlooked a glaring problem.

There was only one bed.

Obviously Newt had booked himself a single cabin. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected to run into Credence here of all places; but, by _Merlin's Long and Graying Beard_ , that didn't mean that he was going to turn the boy away.

Newt wasn't going to fail another Obscurial.

And, just like that, the energy running rampant within him extinguished like a water-logged candle.

Newt looked down at his notes. Charcoal-smudged eyes and scratched lettering stared back at him. So many creatures encountered during his travels. Even more lives saved because of him and his efforts. Newt had brought so much _good_ , so much _happiness_ into the world.

But who was he kidding? Newt could bury himself with work until the day he died. He would _never_ forget about the girl he'd failed.

"M—Mr. Scamander?"

"Please," he lowered his notes and smiled, "Call me Newt."

Credence stood hunched over before him. The paper butterfly had abandoned his lapel and was now crawling around his shoulder, inspecting a piece of white thread sticking out from Credence's jacket.

"Oh. I'm—I'm sorry…"

"Nothing to apologize for," Newt assuaged, leaning back against his desk, "Was there something you wanted to ask me?"

Credence hesitated and glanced behind the wizard. The mountain of papers and clothes loomed precariously over them.

"I—I couldn't help but notice that you write a lot."

An amused smile crossed Newt's face.

"And I was wondering," Credence wringed his scarred hands together, "What is that you're holding?"

"Mermaids."

The paper butterfly raised its head, flickering its antennae.

"Pardon?"

Beaming brighter than the afternoon sun in summer, Newt gestured Credence back onto the bed and thrust the wrinkled papers into his hands. Newt hopped onto the mattress, which smelled faintly of mildew and definitely had a broken spring somewhere, and crossed his gangly legs together.

"Mermaids are fascinating creatures. They're one of the rare universal magical beings that can be found in every continent and ocean around the world," he reached over to point out a smudged charcoal drawing, "You see this one right here?"

Credence nodded.

"She lives around the Great Barrier Reef," Newt traced around the flared fins, elaborate enough to have resembled the finest French lace, "If I hadn't misplaced my pastels, I would've colored her in. Her skin was the brightest shade of crimson that I've ever seen."

"She's beautiful," Credence whispered, quieter than a shadow, "You're very good at drawing."

"Oh, I—uhm, thank you."

Newt wasn't used to compliments.

He retracted his hand and tapped his chin with the backside of his thumb.

"I'm particularly fascinated by saltwater mermaids. I've studied freshwater colonies all across Europe and parts of Southeast Asia, but they're all so different from their oceanic cousins. I'd dare to classify them as different species altogether," he said thoughtfully, "Saltwater mermaids can sing and speak above land. All others can only do so underwater."

Newt had learned that the hard way when he'd tried befriending the ones in the Great Lake as a first-year.

"They do have this rather nasty pastime though of drowning people."

Credence's dark eyes widened and promptly tore his gaze away from the illustration to stare at Newt, "How did you survive meeting one?"

A cheeky grin spread across Newt's face.

"I offered her half of my roast beef sandwich."

Credence stared. The paper butterfly wriggled its antennae. But when it became abundantly clear that Newt wasn't going to elaborate further without a little pushing, it hopped off from Credence's shoulder onto his.

"I'm sorry," Credence apologized yet again and leaned forward, "I'll get her."

"It's quite alright," Newt guided the paper butterfly onto his finger and brought her up to eye-level, "She just wants to hear more of the story, don't you?"

The paper butterfly pranced around his finger happily in response.

"Well, aren't you charming?" he laughed and gently ran his finger down her back, "And what about you, Credence?"

Credence furrowed his brows.

"Pardon?"

"Would you like to hear more?"

A flicker of surprise crossed his expression, as if he hadn't even considered that he had a choice in the matter. Credence lowered his gaze, chewing the corner of his lip.

"I'd… like that."

Newt leaned forward, placing the paper butterfly back on his shoulder.

"A couple months ago, I was in Cairns to investigate what the locals were calling their 'Drop Bear problem.' People were getting scared out of their homes and the town was hanging in shambles. No one knew what to do. I was there a month, but couldn't figure out if there was a creature behind the attacks or a rabid Koala. So, I'd contacted a colleague down in Melbourne to come and take my place. But, ah, that's not important," he wrinkled his nose, "Anyways, there I was having tea along the coast when I saw _her_."

No one ever believed his stories. Theseus indulged him. Mother always wore a patient smile. But Newt knew that they thought his travels and experiences were all the results of a fanciful imagination instead of reality.

Credence though…

He listened intently.

Expressions of disbelief only by the magnificence of the tale instead of in question of the truthfulness. He seemed to hang onto Newt's every word, unspoken questions filling his gaze like an eager student not wanting to disrupt their professor.

 _Like an eager student._

"Watching me on my little pity picnic with a mouthful of mustard, roast beef, and rye," the corner of his mouth quirked, "Crumbs across my face. Clothes stained with sweat."

Credence's mouth parted.

"She asked me to sing for her," Newt continued, tapping his thumb against his chin, "They love it when sailors sing songs and shanties for them. But I can hardly hold a note, so I gave her the rest of my lunch instead. In return, she let me draw her."

His eyes widened in sudden realization.

"And, I supposed," he said slowly, "Let me continue breathing."

Coastal mermaids were notorious, after all, for drowning and dining upon the flesh of those that sang for them.

"Oh, I really should've thanked her for that," Newt rubbed his hands over his face, embarrassment coloring his cheeks, "Do you think it's too late to return to Australia?"

* * *

Newt's handwriting was ghastly.

Sweeping punctuation and cramped lettering abounded the pages and had no determinate beginning or end. It was to the point where Credence couldn't determine whether the observations scrawled across the parchment paper were written in English or another language entirely.

Credence wished that he could strap a pencil around a chicken's leg and let it run rampant. He was certain that the results would resemble Newt's handwriting perfectly.

God, it was _so_ atrocious.

And yet, for a man with such incomprehensible penmanship, Newt's drawings were truly— well, a _work of art._

The charcoal mermaid, with piercing black eyes and shadowed plates of coral seemingly growing out of her shoulders and up her face, was so lifelike that she seemed to breathe. To move. To smile. Credence swore that, at any moment, she would reach out from the pages and drown him in the waters below.

Another sailor meeting an unfortunate end.

"You've lived an extraordinary life," Credence thumbed through the pages in quiet appreciation, reverence pouring through his fingertips and bringing life to its contents, "It's incredible."

Mermaids dove off their rocky perches into the shadowy abyss.

"I don't know about that," Newt shifted awkwardly.

They swam across the pages. Beautiful yet deadly creatures harvesting anemones, sucking marrow from jagged femurs, and picking their serrated teeth with daggers decorated with glittering, jeweled hilts.

"I think it is…"

Here Newt was, a man who had proudly proclaimed to be somewhere around his own age, traveling the world and having fantastic adventures. Newt regularly saw what no one else had ever seen before. He gathered tales and stories and memories more extraordinary than the next.

It was a sin. He knew it was a sin.

But he _envied_ Newt.

Credence had never stepped foot outside his own neighborhood.

The only adventures he had ever been a part of were through books, and that was only when he was brave enough to sneak into the library instead of handing out pamphlets on the street corner like he was supposed to. Credence would bolt to the adventure section and run his scarred fingers across the cracked spines like sacred texts.

He read Jack London and Zane Grey, devoured Alexandre Dumas and L. Frank Baum. He waited excitedly for each new tale of Hopalong Cassidy to come into the library in the form of secondhand dime novels and faded pulp magazines. He had gripped the pages in awed wonder when Buck Rogers first hopped aboard his rocket-ship and flew into space.

There wasn't anything that Credence wouldn't give to roam the wild, wild west alongside Pecos Bill. To sail the seven seas amongst the swashbuckling pirate crew of Long John Silver. To creep through the tropical rainforest, carrying the bags of Allen Quartermain.

He wished that he could live as freely as Newt did.

"Mister—Newt," Credence corrected himself mid-sentence, "You said that you—"

His fingers trembled, shaking the sketches. The charcoal mermaids ceased their harvesting and ghoulish revelries, gathering around to stare up disapprovingly at Credence's pathetic visage.

He placed them face-down against his lap, unable to withstand their judgement, and forced himself to breathe.

In and Out.

He was in control. There was nothing to be afraid of.

The paper butterfly fluttered to his knuckles and paced back and forth.

"You said that you wanted to help me," Credence finished the sentence and asked, "Did you mean that?"

Newt stopped fidgeting and looked up at him.

"Yes, I did."

"Then…" Credence swallowed and glanced at the witch through the corner of his eye, "Could you… take me with you?"

Newt's brows furrowed.

"To London?" he ran his hand through his hair, following along a wavy strand and curling it around his finger, "Yes, of course. I thought that was the plan."

"No—I mean—What I meant to say was—" Credence averted his gaze, "I was just wondering if I could… stay. With you, I mean. Uhm…"

Whatever confidence he had withered more and more by the second.

"That is until we return the return the—the Kraken," he continued, "How—how is she doing?"

 _God, that was pathetic._

He could barely string along two sentences together let alone attempt to make a somewhat reasonable request. Why did he even bother?"

"I'm so glad you asked," Newt brightened, the deep green of his irises becoming three shades lighter.

"She's doing wonderfully," he answered, "Her anticoagulant secretions are doing what they do best. Her leg was patched up quicker than you could say _Expelliarmus!_ "

Newt gestured wildly, the biggest of smiles stretching across his face. He ran his hands through his hair, forming the tangled mess into even more of an untamable mane.

The man shined like the sun.

And Credence admired it.

"She is a bit cranky. But I suppose that's to be expected. The aquarium is smaller than—well, smaller than the ocean that she has no doubt gotten used to," Newt tapped his chin with the back of his thumb, "I'll need to adjust the Expanding Charm I cast to build her a more suitable habitat when she starts growing. What we have now, though, is more than enough to last through the night—Wait."

Newt sprang up unto his feet with such force that he had to re-balance to keep himself from falling. He crossed the room in a leaping bound and peered outside the porthole.

"Oh bugger, that's right. Night. It's nighttime. The hour for _sleeping_ , not _talking_ ," Newt groaned with sudden realization and rubbed the side of his neck. He looked sheepishly back towards Credence, "I've kept you awake, haven't I?"

No.

Credence had reveled in his company. He wanted to hear more of his incredible stories and wanted to learn more about that curious witch that was, by all means, his savior.

"Sorry. Sometimes I get so carried away that I— never mind," Newt continued obliviously and strode across the room. He knelt down and opened the clasps to a leather suitcase, pulling up the lid, "I have my own cot inside. You take the bed up here, I insist. And I— Well, I suppose that I'll see you in the morning?"

He looked up to Credence, who dumbly nodded, before stepping down into the suitcase.

 _Well, wasn't that a surprise._

However, Newt stopped partway through and looked back at him. He opened his mouth several times as if to say something before donning a firm, unwavering expression.

"Credence, you can spend as much time with me as you like," he said softly, "To England, to Italy, to wherever the road takes us."

Newt smiled a little.

"I'll see you in the morning."

He pulled the top of the suitcase closed.

Credence looked down at his hands, the overlapping crescents of his scars staring right back up at him. The paper butterfly nestled sweetly between his fingers and Credence—

Credence wanted to smile.

But couldn't.

* * *

Newt couldn't believe what he was seeing.

The cabin… was _clean._

He pulled himself out completely from the suitcase, one leg at a time, and snapped the lid shut. Newt turned around in a full circle, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had to have been dreaming. There was no other explanation.

Because the cabin was _clean._

The bed was made to meticulous perfection. The starched linen sheets and periwinkle blankets were so crisply tucked and folded that Newt couldn't spot a single wrinkle. That mildewy stench, which somehow always reminded Newt of the color green—a swampish yellowish-green, had miraculously disappeared, replaced with a freshness that Newt couldn't quite pinpoint. And the pillows—

Oh, the _pillows._

They were fluffed to three times their original size.

Newt threw himself on top.

He couldn't just stare at those pillows and _not_ rub his face against it. Not only did they feel like a dream, but they smelled heavenly too. Like clean laundry and morning walks along the shore.

Newt rolled over and tossed his arm over the side, his fingers grazing against the hardwood floor. _Great Merlin,_ it had been swept and mopped with such finesse that it felt like gloss.

His curiosity piqued.

Pulling himself away from pillowish bliss, Newt rose to his feet and explored the rest of the cabin.

He rubbed his fingers across the top of the bolted down dresser. Not a speck of dust remained. He pulled open the drawers with feverish excitement and found his clothes cleaned, pressed, and folded. Even his socks had been carefully matched.

Yellow with yellow.

Gray with gray.

Newt darted to the porthole and pressed his hands against the glass. The window shined and sparkled, the glass catching the morning light in iridescent prisms of color. With newfound clarity, he found himself watching the roiling ocean waves for a solid minute.

Saving the best for last, Newt approached his desk.

The previous night, his notes had been crammed atop the small wooden desk in a chaotic mountain of crumpled parchment and ink.

But now?

Now they were sorted into six neat stacks, the paper lovingly smoothed out to quality crispness. Thumbing through them, Newt vaguely recognized that they were organized in alphabetical order.

Newt absently pulled out the desk chair, sat down, and read. He read and read and read some more. With his notes and illustrations all put together like this, his beloved research was beginning to look more and more like—well, like a book.

With this in his hands, he could imagine a future where children—not just at Hogwarts, but at wizarding schools around the world—carried his life's work to their classes and learned about everything that magical creatures had to offer. Enclosed with their acceptance letters would be a list of required materials, and among them would be _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander.

He could imagine a world where people were no longer scared of his creatures, but were curious about them instead.

A world where no one laughed when they proudly proclaimed that they wanted to study dragons.

A world of curiosity and knowledge instead of hate and fear.

A faint smile spread across his lips and he ran his fingers against the smooth parchment.

Newt could only hope for a future like that.

* * *

Credence stared at the back of Newt's head.

Frowned upon the rumpled bed.

Winced at the smudged porthole window.

Positively cringed at the dresser drawers left often.

He wrapped his arms around his waist and hovered in the doorway, having only just returned from stretching his legs.

The sun had just risen above the horizon when Credence had emerged from the stairwell. It had been the perfect weather that morning for a quick stroll around deck and early enough that none of the other passengers would have been awake yet. The paper butterfly had taken advantage of that rare opportunity to fly just a little ways ahead of him as he walked around, watching the calm ocean waves curl and crash in the distance.

Credence had wondered what sorts of magical creatures lurked underneath.

He had imagined Krakens.

Fully grown ones. Proper beasts belonging to tales of myth and legend where petrified sailors, knowing the terror which lurked below, scrawled the warning " _Here be monsters_ " across ancient cartographs in swooping calligraphy.

Krakens with midnight-black eyes larger than the moon itself and vermilion tentacles stretching further than the vast expanse of the Grand Canyon. Credence imagined being wrapped up in one of them, the ivory suckers pulling at his face and skin.

He had imagined mermaids.

Not the beautiful and terrifying ones combing through their silken hair, singing enchanting melodies and drawing unsuspecting men from their shore-side sanctuaries. No, Credence pictured the unseen merpeople of the deep. Larger than two automobiles stacked on top of each other. Serrated teeth poking through shredded lips, perfect for ripping apart prey. Gray scales, white underbellies, and sharp, sweeping fins designed for speed.

Credence had imagined kelpies. A combination of horse, whale, and seaweed fused together into a strange, oceanic chimera. Sunlight catching its scales and reflecting off colors unknown to man like a living jewel of the ocean.

He had imagined a serpentine leviathan curling defensively around its latest shipwreck. Its dragonesque body twisting through holes ripped into the hull and its large jaws chomping the mast in half, destroyed English sails floating down onto its back making it resemble its winged counterparts.

And yet… the thought of such creatures existing hadn't brought him fear.

It made the world all the more magical. He could only imagine what remained undiscovered.

Credence had leaned up against the rails. In that moment, the salty breeze had seemed sweeter, the sun warmer against his skin, his body lighter and free.

He had always known about the existence of witches thanks to his upbringing; and yet, he couldn't help but wonder what he had blissfully ignored in favor of keeping his eyes to the ground and his heart closed off. What had really been the price of hiding his true self for all those years?

Well, _that_ wasn't a mystery.

The paper butterfly landed on his nose.

Credence almost smiled.

He knew the price of keeping his magic suppressed. He knew it quite well. And yet, despite the havoc he'd waged and the lives he'd destroyed, light had still somehow managed to break through the surface and lend him a helping hand.

And now, here Credence stood, watching Newt reading the notes he'd alphabetized.

Credence had always been an early riser. He had had many chores over at the New Salem Philanthropic Society and more that he had collected over the years from his sisters. It had often taken him hours to complete them all before all the homeless children they'd taken under their wing started filing in for a hot meal and a new set of pamphlets.

So, when he had woken to catastrophe that morning, it had been only a natural response to start tidying up.

Credence had stripped the bed of its sheets and brought them down to the laundry room. The second Newt had accepted him with open arms, Credence had been transformed. No longer was he a stowaway hiding in cabinets and morgues. Now, he was an eccentric member of the ship keen on doing his own laundry.

He had hauled supplies from the janitorial closets that he had once slept in. He had promptly mopped and waxed the grimy hardwood floors. He had shined the foggy porthole window and wiped down the filthy dresser. He had even taken the time to match Newt's socks.

After everything else was done, Credence had gathered the pieces of parchment together into six neat little piles on the desk and took the next couple hours organizing them.

It was only after he had finished that he had realized what he'd done.

He had handled the property of a witch without permission. He had touched his work—his _life's_ work—and intruded upon him in the most heinous and intimate of ways.

God in Heaven Above, he had touched the witch's _socks._

Credence's heart dropped.

Quietly closing the large cabin door behind him, Credence stepped into the room and focused his eyes to the ground.

"Are you mad?"

A sudden crash and a high-pitched yelp came as his answer.

Credence flinched backwards into the wall behind him and looked up, fearing the worst.

Only to find Newt sprawled out on the floor, gazing up at him with wide eyes from underneath a terribly disheveled mop of tawny hair. Did he even own a comb?

"Credence!"

He blanched and quickly went back to looking at his shoes.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Newt repeated himself, dropping his voice to a more agreeable tone that comforted Credence just the tiniest bit, "Just gave me a bit of a fright. That's all. You _must_ tell me how you're able to move about like that one of these days. Quieter than a shadow, you are."

Newt slowly lifted himself off the floor and rubbed his nose between his fingers.

"Me? I'm about a clumsy as a newborn foal. I'm nowhere near your level of expertise," he said, "It's amazing, I tell you. And—wait."

Newt squinted curiously at him.

"Why would I be mad?"

Credence shrinked further into himself, bringing his hands up to his chest and squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

Several seconds passed.

A hand touched his shoulder.

Credence whimpered, trembling now. Newt was going to hit him. He was going to request his belt and slap him across the knuckles for daring to invade his privacy. That was a five-lashing sin right there. Or was it a six? It didn't matter. Credence deserved this. He deserved to be punished—

"Sorry," Newt quickly withdrew, voice quieter than before, "Didn't think. I'm… going to take a couple steps backwards now, if that's alright with you. I won't get any closer unless you say otherwise."

Credence couldn't find the willpower to answer.

The paper butterfly migrated to his knuckles, crawling about and anxiously fluttering her wings.

An uncomfortable silence blanketed the room, thick enough to choke upon. The paper butterfly jutted her head underneath Credence's thumb, demanding attention. He opened his eyes just a smidge and trailed a finger down her back.

The paper butterfly bucked into his touch, fluttering her wings in rapid appreciation.

"It's curious," Newt's thoughtful voice broke through the stillness, "I've never seen a charmed object with such a long lifespan before."

Credence cautiously lifted his gaze.

Newt was exactly where he said he was: crouched on the floor, arms hanging over his knees and staring up at Credence. Or rather, staring up at the paper butterfly.

"They usually last an hour. A day, at most. I used a mild variation of a spell more commonly used to send memos through the Ministry," the corners of his lips quirked, "Or passing notes during Potions when nobody's looking."

Newt stretched out his hand and the butterfly, drawn forward like a toddler to a parent, instantly flew down and landed in his palm.

"This one though," he smiled properly now and scratched underneath her chin, "She's extraordinary."

Newt brought the butterfly towards his face for closer inspection and focused that beaming smile of his up at Credence.

His heart skipped a beat.

"Thank you for cleaning up this place," sincerity shimmered in Newt's meadow green eyes, "You didn't have to do that, but I really appreciate that you did. Thank you, Credence."

Newt wasn't mad.

He thanked him, and he wasn't _mad._

Credence almost smiled.

"You're welcome."

* * *

"Come along, come along!"

Newt scurried down the docks of the Port of London, Credence quietly following behind. The sun was hidden away behind cloudy gray skies. The River Thames frothed with slithering eels and a repugnant stench, which Credence didn't want to know the source of, permeated the air.

"You'll love it here, Credence, I just know it," Newt beamed over his shoulder, submitting his suitcase for inspection, "So much to do and so much to see. Oh, there's nothing quite like London. I don't know what it is, but there's just something about it that always has you coming back."

The luggage inspector okayed the contents and hurried them down the line.

"No time to waste. None at all," Newt clasped the suitcase shut with a sharp _click_ and led them onto the busy streets, "Need to book ourselves a room at _The Leaky Cauldron_ before all the available slots fill up. Do we have enough time to stop off at the Post first? Really should let Theseus know that I made it back alright. Or maybe—"

The witch continued on his tangent as Credence silently followed, heart pounding in his chest.

Everything around him was new and frightening. His eyes darted everywhere and anywhere, observing everything from the tallest church spires to the cracks in the sidewalk. Automobiles blared at jaywalking pedestrians and policemen whistled for the oncoming tourists to hurry along. People pushed and pulled past Credence, treating him like nothing more than a shadow.

Well, _that_ wasn't new.

Credence reached for Newt's hand. He needed to ground himself. He needed to remind himself to breathe. But, most of all, he needed to ensure that he wasn't left behind or forgotten.

But Newt wasn't Modesty. He couldn't ask that of him.

So, Credence kept his hands and his problems to himself.

He was just so nervous.

No, that wasn't right. He was beyond nervous.

He was petrified.

Credence was in another country. He had stepped foot on foreign soil for the very first time, gone further than he'd ever been from home. Everything and everyone familiar were far across the ocean, just beyond his reach.

Having finally arrived at their destination and following behind the positively giddy Newt, Credence realized just how little he had and how unprepared he was. This was Newt's territory. Not his. All that Credence possessed were the clothes on his back and the thoughts in his head. It was terrifying having nothing and no one.

"Isn't she lovely? Just breathe in that wonderful fresh air—," Newt inhaled deeply through his nose.

And almost immediately broke out into a hoarse cough.

He patted his chest and held up a finger.

"Scratch that. Don't breathe in the air," Newt wheezed, "Smoke. Smog. Whatever it is the Muggles are spewing out into the sky nowadays. Definitely _not_ a pleasant smell."

So that's what that odor was.

"Are you alright?" Credence asked quietly.

"Yes, yes. Perfectly alright," Newt coughed once more into his shoulder and offered him his hand, "Let's get going, shall we?"

Credence stared at his open palm.

A thin, silvery scar glowed against his tanned skin, dragging down between his thumb and forefinger. Given how small it was and the peculiarity of its location, the scar was easy to miss; but not for Credence. His heart skipped a beat and, ever so slowly, he slid his hand into Newt's.

Newt beamed and pulled Credence along with him down the streets of London.

Credence almost smiled.

He may have had nothing, but he was far from alone.

* * *

Newt had no idea what he was doing.

He pushed around bits and pieces of fried eggs and tomatoes across his plate. He and Credence had just managed to snag the last bedroom available for the week at _The_ _Leaky_ _Cauldron_ so, to celebrate their luck, Newt had decided to treat themselves to a nice English breakfast.

But not even the most delicious beans on toast could distract him.

Especially since the source of all his worrying was sitting just across the table.

Helping the Kraken was simple. All that Newt needed to do was arrange safe passage to Italy and release her into the Mediterranean amongst her brothers and sisters.

Helping Credence though…

Newt didn't know where to start.

Credence's whole life had been upended. He was traumatized and scared which, as an Obscurial, presented itself with an entirely different set of problems that Newt was ill-prepared for. But that wasn't all. Credence was a powerful wizard, and one in desperate need of training.

Newt wasn't blind. Perhaps a little socially inept, but not blind.

Magic followed Credence wherever he went.

How was it that a portion of _The Wailing Whirlwind's_ rails, perfect when they had left the Port of New York, had become a marled piece of scrap metal after Credence had come into contact with it? How had the ocean become suddenly violent when Newt had jumped overboard into calm seas, only for it to mysteriously return to serenity after being rescued?

But the determining factor had been nothing more than a simple butterfly.

The charm was still going strong.

It seemed that Credence had become attached to the little creature and had unknowingly been feeding his magic into it to keep it alive. Wizards trained their entire lives to maintain sustained streams like that and Credence made it look effortless.

If Credence could be taught… If he could learn how to control his magic instead of being controlled by it, he could become one of the most powerful wizards in the world. Perhaps even reaching the ranks of the likes of Merlin himself. He would be nigh unstoppable. No witch or wizard his equal.

Newt didn't care about power though. About fame. About fortune. About melding Credence into the greatest wizard who ever lived. If he wanted to become the next Seraphina Picquery or Albus Dumbledore, that was his decision to make.

Newt just wanted to make sure that Credence would live long enough to do so.

He leaned forward, twirling his hair around his finger.

"I'd like to make you an offer."

Credence glanced up from his plate.

"I… need to be perfectly honest with you first," Newt sucked in a deep breath, "I don't how to help you."

Credence's eyes widened and his uneaten tomato burst in front of him, splattering scarlet skin and seeds across the table.

"Not to say that you can't be helped or that I won't do everything in my power to do so!" Newt blurted, "It's just that I have no idea how long any of this is going to take. I don't know where we're going to start or if anything I propose is even going to work. I might… fail you. I'll never stop trying, you have my word, but everything we do is trial and error moving forward."

Credence's shoulders slumped.

"It's because I'm not a child… isn't it?"

Newt frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"What I am…" Credence lowered his gaze, growing quiet, "You said… Obscurials aren't supposed to live that long. Mr. Graves was looking for a child too. I'm—I'm not supposed to exist, am I?"

His lip quivered.

"I'm not surprised that you don't know what to do with me… I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for."

Credence looked up.

"Your existence is not a mistake," Newt tapped his chin with the back of his thumb and offered what he hoped was a comforting smile, "And, if you ask me, it's better that you're older. I should be thanking you, really."

"I don't understand."

"Remember when I said Obscuri were parasites?"

Credence gave a hesitant nod.

"Well, now—Now, I'm not so sure," Newt gestured at him, "Because you're not a child, and powerful as you are, it got me thinking… Maybe we've been going about this all wrong. All previous attempts at helping Obscurials have been focused on extraction. But maybe… maybe what we really need to achieve is symbiosis instead."

"Like with shrimp and Goby fish."

"Yes, precisely," Newt said, surprised, "How did you know that?"

Credence lowered his gaze.

"I read."

He smiled.

"Brilliant."

Newt leaned forward, pressing his fingers against his lips, "What else do you know?"

Credence's shoulders stiffened.

"You know more than I do, Mr. Newt."

"I'd still like to hear what you have to say about it."

Credence hesitated.

"I… I don't know much about biology," he started off slow, uncertain, "But, if the—the Obscurus isn't a parasite, then it shouldn't… hurt me. If it's commensal then I would've never known about it since it wouldn't've affected me either way but that's not possible. So maybe—maybe it's more give and take? Like Goby fish and shrimp?"

He looked up to Newt for confirmation.

"That's right," he smiled encouragingly, "Go on."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"It doesn't matter what I want," Newt nodded at him, "What do you think?"

"I—I don't know. I'm not sure, but I—I don't think the Obscurus wants to hurt me," Credence rested his palms within his lap, "It hurts… others. But it hasn't hurt me. I think it just wants to—to keep me safe. So maybe… Obscurials don't live that long because… other people hurt them or, because they're little, they don't have enough magic to keep them both alive? So maybe in those cases it's a parasite but, in mine, it's more… mutual?"

He paused, his head whirling up in realization.

"Does that mean I can control it?"

"That's what I'd like to find out," Newt beamed, "Credence, I'd like for you to be my apprentice."

Credence's eyes widened.

Something sharply cracked behind him.

"Of course, that's all up to you!" Newt blurted out, waving his hands before his face as if trying to catch and retract his offer, "But I think we should start by teaching you how to control your magic. Just the basics at first to see how it goes. If we can manage that then maybe, since the Obscurus subsides on magic, we can… control… it?"

Newt wrung his hands together.

All the pieces were there. He just couldn't see it until now. In this modern era, only certain pureblooded families preferred homeschooling over sending their children to prestigious institutions like Hogwarts and Beauxbatons. It was outdated, but still done.

This was how he could help Credence. This was how he could help reintegrate him into the world that had all but been dangled at his fingertips.

Most importantly though…

"And if something goes wrong—if something like New York happens again, I'll be able to protect you this time."

Credence inhaled sharply.

"What do you mean?"

"Ancient apprenticeship laws. Rule 221—oh whatever it is," Newt explained, fidgeting with his hair again, "If anything happens, I'll be the one handling the consequences. You'll be protected."

Newt looked away.

"You'll be safe, and you'll be able to learn magic," he continued, unable to stop himself now that he'd started, "And I'd… appreciate the help in keeping my research in order. I'm clearly in need of it. I'll give you a living wage too and, if you're unhappy, you can leave whenever you want. Just say the word and I'll—"

"Yes."

By the way they both jerked back in their seats, it seemed that had caught both Newt _and_ Credence by surprise.

"Yes?" Newt repeated, slowly.

"Yes. I— I accept," he said, "I trust you."

Credence swallowed thickly and met Newt's gaze.

"I've been thinking a lot too… Wondering whether you're being genuine with me or if I'm just being taken advantage of again," he quietly confessed, "I've been watching you. Thinking over everything you've said and I—I've come to a decision."

He squared his shoulders.

"You put others before yourself. You do whatever it takes to save them even if it means putting your life in danger. You—you offered me your hand when you didn't even know who I was. You dove into the ocean to save an injured creature without thinking twice because it needed you. You're a helper, Mr. Newt," Credence looked down now, "You might not know what you're doing, but I trust you'll do everything you can to try. So… I—I accept."

A moment of shocked silence passed between them.

"Well then, my apprentice…" Newt leaned back in his chair and smiled widely, "Let's get started."

* * *

 **Please leave your comments and constructive criticisms below ! All comments, big and small, are welcome here !**

 **I'm also _edelweissroses_ on Ao3 and Tumblr.**


	5. A Cheese By Any Other Name

"Mr. Newt, what is that?"

The creature on Newt's shoulder pointed at him and squeaked.

It was early morning. The sun had barely risen over the horizon; or rather, if it had, not a single sliver of its rays managed to pierce the thick cover of smog blanketing the city. Ominous mist rolled through the streets, giving off a putrid stench. The ground squelched with every step. Every building seemed dull and gray. It comforted Credence, reminding him of New York. But unlike the city that never sleeps, London did.

They'd only passed three or four people since leaving the Leaky Cauldron, so Credence really shouldn't be all that concerned with the creature possibly drawing attention. However, given that Newt was waving his arms back and forth, tone raising and dropping without any rhyme or reason, he wouldn't be surprised if all three sets of eyes landed straight on them.

"Mr. Newt?"

Newt didn't respond right away.

But Credence was used to this. So he just twiddled his thumbs together, gathering up his courage to try again.

He had learned rather quickly that Newt possessed a certain… predisposition when talking. Whenever he spoke about his creatures, he'd wholly devote himself to the subject to the point where the one-sided conversation, if not gently interrupted, could last for hours on end. There wasn't anything unkind about it. On the contrary, whenever he realized what he was doing, Newt just blushed head-to-toe in embarrassment and looked away, muttering apologies.

Credence didn't mind it though. He was naturally quiet anyways, and when Newt spoke… he could light up a dark room.

They turned a corner and another and another.

Ever since Credence had become his apprentice, Newt had dragged him all across London.

They'd bounced from store to store, stopping only whenever they needed to eat, before moving onto the next location. If Credence was going to be traveling with him, Newt had declared, then he needed some new clothes and a couple other essentials at least! During the past week alone, they had spent an _entire day_ just picking out a new coat.

Not to say that it wasn't a lovely coat.

That chilly Sunday afternoon, Credence had tried on at least a hundred.

Coats of every kind, all in different shades of gray and black. Some double-breasted, others with flared lapels and leather buttons. One with fur lining and another with belted straps. He'd slipped his arms into many different Trenches and Chesterfields, but all had met with Newt's stern disapproval.

 _It's not just a coat, Credence—but a coat of adventuring. A coat that you can wear in Arctic snows, in Tropical rains, in Desert heat. A coat that doesn't hold you back, but lets you be free to do whatever it is you want to do._

Credence was on the verge of giving up when Newt had suggested trying something different. Perhaps a bit of color to change things up.

Blacks and grays and whites had been Credence's wardrobe for so long that that was what he was automatically drawn to. He felt lost in coats of royal blues and muted browns, vibrant reds and blinding yellows.

And then, a flash of green had caught Credence's eye.

Like a man possessed, he had slipped through the store and lifted the coat off the display.

Something electric had sparked through him as he slid his thin arms through the sleeves. He'd pulled down the cuffs, fastened the silver buttons at his waist, flattened the wide lapels and quickly found himself a mirror. His scarred fingers had smoothed down the glass, awed.

He'd looked like a wizard.

Newt had raised his brows at his choice at first, more amused than genuinely chiding.

 _Slytherin green. Are you sure you don't want Hufflepuff yellow?_

Moments later though, they had walked out of the store, coat in hand.

 _It suits you._

Credence hadn't taken it off since.

He circled his thumb around the silver cufflinks to make them shine and looked back up. Only for the creature on Newt's shoulder to suddenly narrow its eyes and wave its tiny green fist at him.

Credence had seen one of these creatures before. Or, rather, something quite similar.

An elderly gentleman by the name of Sir Walter Pensey the Third had collected insects and, yes, that was his real name. He would talk to Credence sometimes when he was out passing flyers. Thrust his wares in his face, trying to make sale.

Sir Walter would purchase them from some exotic vendor, pinning the butterflies and beetles under glass frames, and sell them in tourist alley out on King's Street—right across from the Second Salemers' home.

They'd caught Credence's attention many times. Sometimes by choice whenever he was brave enough to slink through the marketplace, contraband books tucked away in his jacket. Most of the time though, it was by Sir Walter hooking him around the arm and dragging him to his shop, insisting that he'd see his newest finds.

Regardless of circumstance, the creatures were beautiful to look at. Fascinating in their own way. The iridescent wing casings, shining green or purple depending on the light. The flared feathered wings. The round, bulging eyes. The hooked legs and pointed stingers, ready to strike. None ever looked the same.

However, unlike Sir Walter's beetles, this creature was alive and—

"Mr. Newt, he's glaring at me," Credence tried again, "Did I do something wrong?"

"Hmm?" Newt finally glanced at his shoulder, "Oh, that's just Pickett."

He plucked up the creature and brought it before his face, giving it a look of mock-exasperation.

"Never mind him. It's nothing personal," he said, "He's just taking out his feelings on you. He's been the teensiest bit grumpy with me ever since—erm. Well, it's a bit of a story. One best saved for later."

Newt grimaced, shaking his head.

"Nevertheless," he recovered and pointed his finger at the moping creature, "You know better than to be climbing about in the open of Muggle London. We've talked about this. You get to be in the pocket as long as _you stay in there._ "

Pickett blew a raspberry at him.

"Bowtruckles," Newt huffed lovingly and slid Pickett back into his coat pocket, "Now don't you skulk around in there. We'll be in Diagon Alley shortly and you can ride around on my shoulders as long as you like, okay?"

He froze, his eyes glazing over.

Credence recognized that expression.

Newt was getting an idea.

And, it seemed, it was a very good one.

* * *

Why hadn't he seen it before?

The greatest introduction to the magical world and magizoology was starting off small, especially when the persons involved only had a minimal exposure to such things.

If Credence was truly to become his apprentice and a proper magizoologist-in-training, he needed to become well-versed in both. Learning the formal wand movements for casting an _Alohomora_ and the right restraining techniques for bathing a reluctant Niffler.

Well, maybe not _that._

Not even Newt liked doing that.

Nifflers aside, magical creatures were misunderstood beings. Wizards, much like Muggles, were ruled by fear over what they didn't understand. No respectful witch or wizard would ever admit it, however, that didn't mean that the truth wasn't the truth. Sometimes the most fearsome of creatures possessed the gentlest of hearts. But instead of taking the time to understand them, to put in the slightest amount of effort, the wizarding world would rather slaughter them. Eradicate them without ever knowing their value.

So many beasts had already been hunted into extinction because of _fear._

Newt ran his hands over his face.

Credence was already in possession of the paper butterfly. One was never far from the other. They needed one another. They cared for each other. But taking care of the butterfly wasn't like taking care of a magical creature.

Not to say that it didn't have the personality of one. It was already developing Credence's more nervous tendencies. But the paper butterfly didn't need food, didn't need water, didn't need shelter. It was alive, but not living.

Unlike Bowtruckles.

By having Pickett linger in Credence's pocket for a little while, he could recover from their adventure in New York and Credence could slowly become accustomed to the presence of magical creatures. And, depending on how well he handled the responsibility, perhaps Newt would be able to let him into his suitcase sooner than he thought.

"Mr. Newt?"

Credence's voice pulled him out of his reverie.

Right.

They had plans for day. Big plans.

Newt straightened his Hufflepuff scarf.

Credence's insistence on formality was… certainly something. Newt had pushed him to use his name instead of calling him Mr. Scamander, but it seemed like he could only meet him halfway. Newt supposed that he didn't mind though.

"Yes, Credence?"

"Forgive me for being so bold…" Credence twiddled his scarred thumbs together, "But are you… okay?"

Newt smiled.

What an impossibility he was. There Credence was: clothed in proud Slytherin green, yet hesitant with even the most casual turns of phrase. Skittish, yet always on the look-out for Newt's well-being. He fretted over every little thing Newt did: making sure his notes were in order, making sure he ate, making sure he _breathed._

Credence had endured the unspeakable—done the unimaginable—and it had made him _kind._

"Couldn't be better," Newt rocked on his heels, patting his coat in search of his wand, "The real question you should be asking is: Are _you_ alright?"

Credence's brows scrunched together.

"P—Pardon?"

"Are you feeling ill? Tired? _Bored?_ " Newt stepped closer, invading his personal space.

It wasn't on purpose though. Newt had never understood personal boundaries, much less recognized that they were there, and often found himself leaning in to show his complete and utter attention. It was a habit Mother often reprimanded, but no matter how hard he tried, Newt just couldn't break it.

"We finished our Muggle shopping," Newt finally found his wand, slipping it out, "Now… we begin our Apprentice shopping. Are you up to the task?"

Credence's eyes, darker than a thestral, widened until it seemed to encompass half his face. Newt had seen this look before. In fact, he had seen this look _many_ times before.

Every child on their first day at Hogwarts had it.

He had had it when he'd first stepped foot into the Great Hall, wand in hand and cloak around his shoulders. Those were eyes filled with wonder. Those were eyes that were eager to finally start their magical education, but also afraid of what it entailed.

"I need to know if you're feeling up to it, Credence," he said softly, "We can hold off on it if you're not ready. It's fine if you're not."

He didn't respond.

"Credence?"

Those dark eyes met his, firmed with conviction.

"I'm ready."

* * *

Mr. Graves had always promised Credence that he would introduce him to the world of magic.

Much like Satan dangling the forbidden fruit just within Eve's curious reach, Mr. Graves had lured Credence into temptation by offering him the world he both hated and desperately wanted to be a part of. Credence would never again endure the sting of a leather switch across his hands. Never thrown into a closet, locked away and forgotten. Never pushed down a dangerous ravine or burned over heated flame. He would have _magic._ He would do _wondrous things._

All that Mr. Graves had asked in return was patience. He only required a little assistance first. Only once Credence had proven his worth would he be granted entry.

But Mr. Graves never kept his promise.

Newt, though…

Newt had only known Credence for a little while, and yet they had latched onto each other like magnets. Wherever one went, the other followed. The only exceptions were when Newt disappeared for a couple hours to take care of his creatures. It wasn't so bad though. Sitting next to Newt's suitcase, patiently watching for any sign that he would emerge, was company enough.

Credence couldn't explain it. He should be wary. He _had_ been wary.

But there was something inexplicable about the prisms in his eyes… a familiar warmth that Credence had only experienced once before with Modesty, and it had lowered his walls. Through his mere presence alone, Newt kept the darkness inside Credence at bay and maybe… maybe that was a good thing.

Because he wanted to trust. He wanted to believe that everything would be okay. Credence wanted to keep that little flicker of hope inside him alive, no matter the cost.

His desire to be around Newt was explainable, however Credence couldn't understand why Newt wanted to be around him. His relationship with Modesty made sense. They were siblings. All they had were each other in that house of horrors. But Newt? He was bound to have friends and family out there supporting him. He had an amazing life, and one that Credence had only encountered before in books at that! Newt was an angel among men, a dashing hero of their time.

Maybe Newt really needed an apprentice. Or maybe Newt truly was a godsend.

Either way, Newt had done more for Credence than Mr. Graves ever had. And now he was bringing him into the wonderful world of _magic_.

Was he dreaming?

Newt raised his wand into the air and tapped a few wall-stones in no particular order.

The bricks opened up.

And then…

They stepped out from the dismal alley into a street of wonders.

Credence stumbled backwards into Newt and a choked sob ripped from his throat as if he had been struck; and yet, no tears filled his eyes. He… didn't know what he had been expecting. Perhaps everything and nothing at all. Anything except _this._

Mother would have turned in her grave.

She had beat her beliefs into Credence for as long as he could remember. Witches were wicked beasts that feasted upon the flesh of children. They danced – naked as the day they were born – through forests and the dangerous underbellies of modern cities. They fornicated with the Devil in wicked orgies of lust and debauchery. Witches were demonic _heathens_ that had turned away from the face of God and traded their blessed humanity for hellish power.

It didn't make sense.

By all accounts, Credence should have seen children's milky-eyed corpses hanging from their toes in butcher shop windows. The streets should have run red with blood. He should have seen every deadly sin fathomable gallivanting around with fiendish fervor: gluttons gorging on human flesh, lustful predators stalking their oblivious prey, greedy gamblers betting life and limb with every throw of dice.

At the very least, a _gingerbread house._

So why… was their world so beautiful?

"Credence."

He could barely speak.

The sky was bluer—clearer—than he had ever seen before. The air remained untouched, not even the faintest snippet of industrial gas polluting it. Credence inhaled deeply, committing to memory the scent of citrus, jasmine, and a subtle trace of rain wafting through.

Raspberry-cheeked children chased chocolate frogs down the streets, shrieking with laughter whilst their parents chatted over tea. There were teenage witches on their first dates, holding hands and shyly giggling. Old witches hobbled down the cobblestone paths, looking exactly what Credence pictured in fairytales, but their smiles were kind and wizened instead of sinister smirks.

There were stores dotting the lane too.

 _Oh!_ So many stores!

Credence could just barely make out the elegant calligraphy of the Magical Menagerie, the swooping meadow green curls and curves moving of their own jurisdiction. Witch familiars slithered and stalked behind its wide windows: black cats, toads, snakes, white rabbits, even owls! There were so many peculiar shops dotting the cobblestone streets, each more dazzling than the next.

There were shimmering silver instruments that made Credence dizzy by looking at them for too long. Ancient globes spiraled gold dust into the air while laborers carted barrels of something called butterbeer behind a busy café. Peddlers selling their wares lined the corners. Everything that Credence dreamed of and more could be found on their colorful quilts: gold-tipped quills made of phoenix feathers, dragonscale boots promising to never lose their luster, copper cauldrons and self-heating kettles.

His dark eyes darted from store to store. Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Flourish and Botts Bookstore. They even had an _ice creamery._

"Credence?"

Newspapers were being sold at the cart nearest to him. Moving pictures and script floated across the paper. _Actual moving pictures!_ A salesman called into the square announcing the fastest broomstick ever made and the recent capture of—

Green and auburn filled his vision.

Brows creased with worry. Thin lips pressed tight.

Newt.

"Credence, are you alright?" Newt's hands were upon his shoulders, his face learning dangerously close, "Let's find you somewhere to sit down, shall we? I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I thought that maybe since Jacob handled magic so well that, erm—"

"Mr. Newt," Credence softly interrupted.

The witch paused and stepped backwards.

"Yes, Credence?"

What was this feeling in his chest? Credence felt lighter than a feather. If he jumped right here and now, he swore that he could fly higher than the tallest mountain, disappearing into the clouds above never to return to the ground.

He was happy.

So very _happy._

Credence smiled. The paper butterfly fluttered at his lapel.

"Could we go to the bookstore first?"

* * *

He must have done something right.

Newt lounged in the back corner of the bookstore, perusing an old volume of _Madame Camembert's Cantankerous Cabaret_ where Madame Chantilly Crème uncovered her husband, Monsieur Cheddar, in the midst of an illicit affair with Mademoiselle Brie. Newt had his guilty pleasures. Ones that he most certainly did not feel guilty about, no sir! And yet… not even the unfolding paperback drama distracted him from the one single thought replaying itself again and again and again like a broken film belt.

Newt ran his hand through his hair.

Credence had _smiled._

A genuine one at that.

It had thrown him so off guard that when Credence had asked, ever so politely, to go into _Flourish and Botts_ … Newt had just nodded dumbly and led the way. His fingers had itched for a piece of charcoal, a sheet of parchment, and the feeling only doubled when they stepped inside the shop.

Credence's eyes were mesmerizing.

They were nothing like he had ever seen before: the blackest black imaginable, achieved only by pressing charcoal to paper until the vine smoked and sparked like a crackling candlewick, and yet glowed with cosmic intensity the moment Credence laid eyes on the leather-bound texts filling floor to ceiling. His happiness was like a galaxy, lighting up the stygian skies. If he looked close enough, Newt could even pinpoint the moment of supernova.

He had directed his new apprentice to the first-years textbooks next to the children's section, intended for those who manifested their magical abilities early. It was awkward standing amongst titles like _A is for Animagus_ and _Managing Mischievous Munchkins_ , especially since he had read those very same books when he was four; but, almost immediately, Credence had lost himself amongst the shelves. Fingers gliding across the gilded spines, thumb pressed against his lips, those dark eyes flickering back and forth.

In a world all his own.

So, Newt had found himself the comfiest corner available and left Credence alone.

He didn't understand him.

The most insignificant gesture could send Credence spiraling into tears and terrified apologies; and yet, instances where Newt thought could overwhelm, Credence rose triumphant—if not completely overtaken by unquenchable curiosity. Credence was a genuine dichotomy, and his reactions to magic were certainly no exception. It made moving forward difficult. Newt never knew what might set him off or bring forth a new wave of confidence.

"If only there was a book on that…" Newt murmured to himself, half-amused. Perhaps _Madame Merriweather's Beginner's Guide to Apprenticeship_ would help.

"Credence?" Newt stretched before rounding the aisle where he had last seen him wander off to, "You just about all set over there?"

"Oh y—yes… I was just—I was wondering if you had any books about magical creatures?"

Newt froze.

"It's just…" Credence was talking to one of the tellers, an astounding pile of books gathered in his thin, wiry arms and his dark eyes trained to the floor, "I searched and searched, but turned up empty. Are they in a different area?"

"Hmm."

The teller leaned over, resting his muscular arms against the countertop. Newt thought he looked like the stereotypical strongman: scarred eye, balding head, and a frankly impressive orange mustache. The only things missing were a set of barbells and P.T. Barnum announcing him to the stage.

"You looking to exterminate anything in particular?" he asked.

"What?" Credence's head shot up, looking alarmed like he'd just received the news that his childhood dog had been run over by the aging widow next door, "No, sir. I—I want to learn about them. Aren't there any books on magizoology? How to uhm… care for magical beasts?"

The term seemed to spark the teller's interest and, in that instant, he spotted Newt lurking in the background.

Ah. So, it was Marcus on the main register today. He'd grown taller and more mustachioed since he'd last saw him.

Newt attempted to shrink himself three sizes smaller underneath Marcus's unwavering scrutiny and fell silent.

"Oh, I see," Marcus laughed, his entire frame shaking as he did, "Has the crackpot been harassing you? One word and I'll have him thrown out. Don't care what the manager says. Should've banned him last time with what he did."

He leaned around Credence, making eye contact with Newt.

"Ya here that, Scamander?" Marcus leered, " _Banned._ "

Newt found the tops of his shoes all the more appealing.

"I—I don't…" Credence slowly repeated, "What do you mean by… crack…pot?"

"Oh yeah, you're not from around here are you? Y'see that little pest over there? He used to come in here when he was a first-year — you've got first-years over at Ilvermony don't you? — asking about beasts and monsters, bothering everyone with more important things to do," Marcus snorted, "Get this: he asked the boss once to sponsor a manuscript he'd been working on. Can you believe it? The first book about helping magical creatures, he says! Nobody wants that."

Newt's hands twitched, quickly finding the edges of his scarf and twirling them around his fingers.

He didn't want to be here anymore. The nearest bookcase could spontaneously spark to life right now, gobbling him up whole, and Newt would probably thank it and invite it over for tea at this point. This was the moment where Credence was going to find out he was a laughingstock. He was going to regret becoming his apprentice. He was—

"Shame he ain't more like his brother."

Credence would be so much better off with Theseus as his mentor.

"Credence," Newt said quietly, hoping that the heavens shined down upon him and that Yvette was manning the second register today. She had never judged him like this, or at least, had enough decency to never say so to his face. "Let's just pay for your books and go."

But, Credence wasn't finished.

"Am I not a person?"

Marcus quirked a bushy brow and crossed his bulging arms over his equally bulging chest, "Excuse me?"

"I asked you for a book on magizoology because I _wanted_ one," Credence's eyes smoldered with fire and brimstone and yet, his jaw was set in unmovable, unbreakable stone, "I do not _want_ books on how to kill magical creatures. I _want_ books about what they are. I _want_ books on how to take care of them. So, if _nobody_ wants a book like that, am I not a person?"

Newt had never seen him like this.

Granted, they'd also only known each other for a week. But still.

Wow.

"I'm sorry, sir," Credence bowed his head in polite dismissal and slid the books he'd wanted across the counter, "But we'll be leaving now. Excuse me."

"What did you just say?" Marcus' nostrils flared, "Why you little—"

"Actually!" Newt butted in with an awkward laugh, quickly grabbing Credence's books from the counter and nodding his head frantically in the opposite direction, "We'll just check out over there. Terribly sorry for bothering you. We'll just, uhm, leave you be now. I like your mustache."

Credence's face flushed in embarrassment.

"Or… we'll just do that," he stepped backwards, shoulders slumped and hands trembling, "I'll be right outside. Excuse me."

"Credence, wait—"

But, he was already through the door.

Newt looked back to Marcus.

And grinned.

"That's my apprentice."

* * *

Credence was mortified.

He didn't know what had come over him. The rage. The offense. The venom spewing to life within his throat. Hearing that wizard talk about Newt like that… No. Seeing Newt knocked down by the salacious slander hurled his way, not even once rising to his own defense as if he was accustomed to such vicious degradation… It had sparked a fire flaring through Credence's veins, burning through all his walls and safeguards, so that he could rise to the occasion and come to Newt's rescue.

This wasn't like him.

Acting without thinking was always more of Modesty's thing. Whenever people like Henry Shaw called Credence a freak or treated him lower than dirt, he would watch her eyes ignite with flame, restrained only by their entwined hands and Credence's soft words. Otherwise, she'd just run in guns-blazing.

Like he just had.

Oh God, what had he done?

Credence glanced over at Newt. He hadn't spoken a word since they'd left the bookstore, trudging down the cobblestone street without explaining what they were doing or where they were going. He must have been so disappointed in him.

"I'm sorry," Credence said quietly.

Newt slowed to a stop and looked back at him, a question swimming in his meadow green eyes.

"I… shouldn't have done that," Credence's hands twitched towards his belt buckle. It was habit now. He would do something he shouldn't have, his Mother would request his belt, and then he would be cleansed from his sins. That's how it always went. That's how it has always _been._

The paper butterfly fluttered down to his hands.

Newt was different though. Newt would never hurt him like that.

"I shouldn't have treated him with disrespect. I don't—I don't know why I did that. The way he just dismissed you like a… a… _a freak_ made me—It made me angry," Credence averted his gaze, "I acted without thinking and I'm—I'm sorry."

It was stupid. _Stupid stupid stupid._ He never should have been so bold. He really was an irresponsible, no-good sinner ruining everything he touched.

"Credence, you—you were perfect," Newt's breathless voice broke through the darkness, "No one has ever… really… stood up for me before. Well, it doesn't happen all that often."

Credence spared a cautious glance.

Newt was pacing, but without the enthusiastic vigor whenever he was on one of his babbling frenzies. This was more… uncertain. Hesitant. Credence didn't know what to make of it.

"This may come as a bit of a shock to you…" Newt forced an awkward smile, "But I don't really have many… friends. So, I'm glad you were there, Credence. I mean it. Thank you."

A moment passed between them.

Each staring at each other without moving, without speaking. Neither knowing what to do or say. Until Newt eventually coughed and pulled at his collar. He turned back around and surveyed the area.

"Let's get moving, shall we?"

This time, when he glanced over his shoulder back at Credence, there was a genuine smile instead of a strained one.

"I need to put in an order at Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary. I was thinking about grabbing something to eat after setting up an Apprentice's Account over at Gringotts and then, time permitting, stopping off at Ollivander's to get you fitted for a wand?" Newt held out his hand, "Sound good?"

A wand.

He would finally be getting a wand.

By the grace of God, Newt was _so_ much better than Mr. Graves had ever been.

Credence slipped his hand into his and smiled, just the teeniest bit.

"Sounds good."

* * *

On second thought, bringing Credence to the apothecary was a _bad, bad, bad_ idea.

The instant they entered, Newt became all too aware of the barrels of frogs brains and preserved bat wings filling the wooden shelves. Eyes of newt floated inside large jars. Crocodile skulls and twinned herbs and bouquets of rabbit feet hung from the ceiling. A tarantula stepped forward on a nearby table, raising its front legs in greeting.

It wasn't his finest moment but, Newt had practically shoved Credence outside and stuttered out that he should probably wait out there instead.

"Ah, my favorite consumer of Babbling Beverage," came a boisterous laugh, "What can I do you for?"

Klaudius Kaganovitch, current owner of Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary, lounged in the furthermost corner of the shop. He leaned back in his quilted chair, a pipe between his teeth and leather boots propped up on an ancient stained mahogany desk.

Long ebony hair hung in thick waves around his large ears, but not a single strand grew on top of his head. Sunken yellow eyes glared out from underneath bushy brows, yet nary a wrinkle creased his tanned face. He was strong in stature and tall enough to claim distant giant ancestry, yet he remained permanently hunched over like an old man.

A glass jar was set upon the desk, the yellowed sign labeled _Guess My Age_ in looping script fraying at the edges. It was filled to the top, overflowing with knuts and sickles and the rare galleon.

"Very funny," Newt mumbled and tossed in a coin, "Fifty-four?"

Klaudius snorted.

"Not even close," he took out his pipe and puffed a smoke ring into the air, "How've you been, Newt?"

"Oh, you know… same old, same old," Newt searched his coat pockets before procuring a small piece of parchment, "I need these potions. Double batch. Enough to last me a month or two. Ah, better make that three just to be safe."

"Separated into quarts?"

"Ounces this time, actually. I'd like to take them out in the field."

"That'll cost extra," Klaudius grunted.

"I know."

Klaudius opened out his hand and Newt slipped the paper over. The shopkeeper pulled out a pair of crooked, wire-framed glasses and brought the list up close to his face. "Burn-healing Paste and Fire Protection Potion. Didn't I just fill up an order of those?"

"Funny story," Newt shifted sheepishly from foot-to-foot, "Dragons in Egypt made me run out of that one."

"And you've got… Essence of Dittany, Murtlap, and Star Grass," Klaudius peered over his glasses and tsked, "Again?"

"Gryphon hooked me in the shoulder. Used up the last of my stock."

"Calming Drought too?"

"Ah," Newt suddenly found himself occupied with counting the cracks on the ceiling, "That's… just in case of emergency."

Klaudius gave him such a scrutinizing look that it could have burned holes in Newt's coat. The young wizard rubbed his shoulder and gave an awkward grin, "Oh, don't give me that look. I keep you in business."

"You're one of my more… _entertaining_ customers. I'll give you that. But, the amount of healing potions you go through by the month brings me worry," Klaudius huffed, taking another puff out of his pipe and blowing smoke rings into the air, "Come back tomorrow morning. Everything will be ready for you then."

"Perfect!" Newt beamed, "Is Octavius opening?"

"No, he's been moved to evenings. Hortencia's working the morning shift now."

"Oh," Newt responded, and a respectful silence passed between them at the mention of her, "How's she doing?"

"The leg still gives her trouble, but she's up and walking," Klaudius clucked his tongue, "But just between you and me: Don't mention the cane or she'll whack you with it."

"Understood," Newt nodded and headed for the exit, glancing over his shoulder back at the ancient-young shopkeeper, "Thank you. I owe you one."

Klaudius snorted, "You got that right."

A howling scream shattered the windows.

Newt had just enough time to throw up a shield before being thrown forward into the door-frame, digging his nails into the cedar to keep himself upright. The ground beneath trembled with unbridled force. Pickett squeaked loudly from inside his breast pocket, no doubt vexed from being jostled around.

Another sorrowful scream sent the glass flying back out into the streets.

 _Credence._

What happened? Who'd hurt him? Newt should've never him outside alone. This was his fault. It was all his fault.

The ground quivered again. Frightened shouts and screams echoed from outside. A jagged crack sliced through the storefront wall, creeping across the ceiling and stopping right over Klaudius' head.

"Well," Klaudius pulled the pipe from his lips and cackled as Newt bolted out the door, "Now, I guess you owe me two!"

* * *

"Credence? _Credence!_ "

The world shook.

Shadows danced through the air. Every window, shattered. It was like a Category Five Hurricane made of magic and darkness had overtaken the area, traveling overhead and uprooting everything that had the misfortune of coming into contact with it.

As magical as the wizarding world was, they were still caught within the aftermath of a war. Gellert Grindelwald _WANTED_ posters were still plastered across most storefront windows. But, it seemed that Credence hadn't noticed the posters.

He had noticed the _newspapers._

And that was exactly what he held in his hands now as the Obscurus spiraled out of control around him.

 _Bugger. Bugger. Bugger. Bugger._

"Credence!"

Newt slowly approached him, the sheer magnitude of Credence's power forcing him backwards. Pickett cautiously peeked out of his pocket, squeaked, and quickly ducked back inside.

Newt pulled out his wand, tightly gripping the handle, and cast a Sticking Charm to his shoes to keep himself from being knocked off his feet. He trekked forward as if weights were suddenly attached to his ankles, linking him to the Earth.

Newt clenched his teeth together.

Credence could only have been a few feet away, but it felt like they were miles apart.

It was loud, and it was frightening. His ears were _screaming._ Newt wanted nothing more than to run back inside the apothecary and hide inside the dark, cold storeroom amongst the dried herbs and bottled rarities. He wanted to press his hands against his ears and beat his head against the stone walls. Anything to escape this _agony._

But he couldn't leave Credence behind.

So, he trudged forward and ripped the newspaper from the Obscurial's frozen fingers.

"Oh, Credence…"

The front page of _Wizarding Weekly_ declared the end of the war. Details of Gellert Grindelwald's impersonation of an American Auror and subsequent capture in New York was splattered across in printed ink. Percival Graves had been discovered in ill health, but was expected to make a full recovery.

Grindelwald's scowling figure was shown being carted off by MACUSA, his hands bound in unbreakable charms and his wand confiscated.

Photos of Graves—the real Graves—being escorted from Grindelwald's apartment where he'd been imprisoned all this time was displayed alongside it. It had been only a block away from MACUSA headquarters. A blanket was draped across his bony shoulders. His eyes and lips both bruised and swollen. His cheeks, hollowed. Traumatized, no doubt. Yet his eyes blazed with vengeance.

The war was over.

But the haunted expression splattered across Credence's face made Newt feel like it had only just begun.

"Credence? Credence, can you look at me?" Newt soothed. He reached out to touch Credence's trembling shoulders but hesitated last moment, uncertain whether he'd appreciate the contact. "If it's alright with you, Credence, I'm just… going to touch your shoulders now, okay? Don't be afraid. It's just me. It's just Newt."

Eyes shimmered white.

Patches of skin peeled off Credence's face, layer after sickening layer, disappearing into shadowy wisps of darkness. He was falling apart, quite literally. Breaking down little by little with each and every passing moment.

The ground beneath them shuddered and cracked.

This was bad.

This was _very_ bad.

"Credence, I don't know what to do but I need you to trust me. I'm going to touch your face now, okay? I need you to look at me. Only me, understand?" Newt cupped Credence's face between his hands and leaned forward, milky white eyes and tear-stained cheeks filling his vision.

"I'm Newton Artemis Fido Scamander. You are my apprentice Credence Barebone," Newt pressed their foreheads together, willing every word into his body, "You are good. You are safe. And you can _fight_ this _._ I know you can, Credence. I believe in you."

The air coalesced around them, shrieking and shouting—almost human in its despair.

Newt didn't falter.

"You're my friend," he added softly, "Let me help you."

White eyes returned to black.

Credence slumped forward.

Shopkeepers peered out their shattered front windows. The witches and wizards of Diagon Alley, having hid anywhere they could to escape the blast, poured out of their refuges. Frightened children huddled underneath their parent's robes, hiding their faces just in case the storm hadn't passed just yet.

Newt wrapped an arm around Credence and quickly apparated themselves out of there.

Credence clung onto his shoulder as he struggled to stand. As powerful as Credence was, Newt imagined that releasing the Obscurus like this took a lot out of him. And it probably didn't help that Newt had apparated with him for the very first time.

"Watch your step," Newt murmured, helping Credence upstairs to their room.

Credence mumbled something underneath his breath.

Newt paused and leaned down to better hear him, "I'm sorry? I didn't catch that."

"Your middle name is Fido?"

Newt puffed out his chest, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

"Oh hush."

* * *

The day wasn't supposed to end like this.

Credence was supposed to be curled up in bed, reading his new books. He was supposed to sit down with Newt and drink Butterbeer and sample other wizarding confections. He was supposed to visit Gringotts. He was supposed to have the honor of getting a wand. Something that he could call his own, that no one could take away from him.

He was supposed to enjoy this strange, new world he found himself in. Not destroy it.

Credence uncurled his hands.

And wished that the paper wings inside weren't shredded.

* * *

 **Please leave your comments and constructive criticisms below ! All comments, big and small, are welcome here !**

 **I'm also _edelweissroses_ on Ao3 and Tumblr.**


	6. Pulling on My Dragon Heartstrings

Gloom saturated the room.

Ice crystals, swirling labyrinthine designs more intricate than the next, creeped up the double windows fixtured above Credence's bed. Shadows gathered— _dragged_ against their will—to that miserable little corner, wrapping themselves around the bed and the sorrowful figure laying upon it.

Newt gazed upon his despondent companion.

Credence's spine poked from his back, the rounded edges creating a neat row of tiny mountains curving down the cotton shirt. Juniper blankets were draped carelessly over bony hips. His defeated body was curled so entirely around himself that, as tall as he was, only a fraction of the bed ended up occupied.

"Credence?"

No response.

How many days had Newt gazed upon this exact scene, this living portrait of misery? How many times had he watched those dark shadows enshrouding Credence's barely illuminated figure, evoking a sense of urgency and dread that seemed vaguely familiar? Why, Caravaggio himself could've painted such a scene. Splashed midnight pigment across a stark white canvas, his golden brush sweeping across the page, creating Credence's image. A masterpiece of genius and horror.

"Credence," Newt quietly pleaded and pulled up a chair, "Tell me what I can do. Whatever it is, anything at all. Just… let me help you. Please."

Silence.

Wretched, never-ending silence.

"Was it something I did?"

A sudden flash of dark eyes over Credence's shoulder. Something different within the portrait. Signs of life. Movement. _Hope._

Credence pulled himself up, linens gathering around his waist, and gazed listlessly into the distance.

No. Not hope at all.

Not within those clouded eyes.

"It wasn't you, Mr. Newt," Credence whispered and lifted his balled hands, revealing what was inside, "It was me."

Shredded paper wings.

"Oh Credence," Newt leaned forward, offering his hand.

But Credence shrunk away and returned to that miserable position.

"We can fix this, Credence. Someway, somehow," Newt tried again, "It's not your fault."

But Credence no longer responded.

Newt's shoulders slumped. He reached into his pocket and pulled Pickett out, "Keep an eye on him, won't you?"

 _I'm not the one that can help him here._

* * *

There were approximately 392 cracks in the wall and 643 across the ceiling.

1 deserted spiderweb abandoned in the corner.

3 empty moth cocoons.

The bed had 1,456 scratch marks and 4 carved initials into the wooden bedposts.

1 missing screw on the corner window.

8 pigeon droppings on the outside ledge.

18 shreds in the paper butterfly's wings.

Days had blurred together.

Time became nonexistent.

The butterfly still hadn't moved.

 _Prudence_ hadn't moved.

Credence turned his bleary eyes towards the bowtruckle softly snoozing in his open palm, its tiny arms wrapped around his thumb.

The creature had warmed up to Credence since their first introduction, however long ago that was. Days? Months? Years? It didn't matter. Pickett watched over him like an anxious guardian. Always sharing his fruit with him. Always hovering nearby and running over whenever he thought he was needed. He'd often just sit there on the bedside corner, patting his hands whenever Credence found himself close to tears. Pickett was a good bowtruckle.

But he couldn't replace the companion Credence had lost.

Credence curled into himself and whimpered.

" _Ma_."

But she was gone too.

What he would give to see her again. All he wanted was for her to hug him, to make him feel better, to run her hands through his hair and sing him sweet lullabies. _Fa la ninna, fa la nanna. Nella braccia della mamma—_

Granted, Mary Lou Barebone had never once done that in all the years that she had him and yet… Credence couldn't help but yearn for the mother he never had. The one he had always wanted her to be.

But he would never get that, now would he? Because his Ma was dead. She was dead and it was all his fault just like poor Prudence.

 _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry._

Tears pricked his eyes.

 _I'm not worthy._

* * *

"Hello there, darling."

Nothing brought Newt more joy or sense of purpose than spending time with his creatures.

The Petit Runespoor and the Gigantic Runespoor both had needed their latest dose of antibiotics; so, Newt had spent the better half of the morning carrying out _that_ tedious process. Not only had he needed to get the middle head to cooperate, but also avoid getting bit by the first. Venomous creatures were always such a doozy to work with, must less three-headed ones.

But that was all over and done with.

Newt set down the bucket of fish he'd been hauling.

"Well, look at you," he stepped closer to the aquarium and grinned, "You're bigger than an Erumpent."

No matter what challenging activities he had planned for the day, Newt still loved his creatures with all his heart.

None more so than the Kraken at this moment.

Her injury had stitched itself together into a sinewy scar on an otherwise healthy leg and, much to Newt's delight, she had already grown twice in size since the day they'd met. Charting the growth development of an infant Kraken was a dream come true.

"By the time we get you back home, I dare say you'll be even quadruple that!"

Newt stuck his hand inside the aquarium. There were no barriers here between Newt and his creatures. Perhaps a few protective charms here and there to keep everything safe, but nothing more. His creatures knew only freedom and Newt preferred to keep it that way.

The young Kraken swam over and wrapped one of her vermilion tentacles around his arm. The pale ivory suckers, as round and large as diamond rings, left purple marks on Newt's skin as she squeezed him in greeting.

Krakens were rather emotionally sensitive creatures. Regardless of reputation, Newt found them to be one of the friendliest creatures of the deep. They were extraordinarily affectionate to members of their pod and often displayed as such through hugs. Many of the sunken ships trapped at the bottom of the Atlantic hadn't truly been crushed out of any form of malicious attack. No, they were merely hugged to death in a classic case of mistaken identity.

"Mummy's expanding your enclosure today, darling," Newt tenderly rubbed against the length of her leg, "It's about time I added an ocean habitat to the suitcase. A proper one. Lots more room for you to swim and explore, hmm? What do you think about that?"

The Kraken squeezed his hand in response.

"Wonderful! That's just what I thought," Newt retracted his hand and dried it against his shirt, "Go hide in bed now, love. It's about to get noisy."

The Kraken obediently swam away and hid within the bed of gently swaying sea kelp that she loved so much. Despite Newt having painstakingly created many places for her to hide and play, even going so far as building a literal treasure trove of a cave, she had decided that _kelp_ was what she loved the most.

Typical.

Newt rolled up his sleeves and slipped out his wand.

As he extended the expansion charms and added various decorations to the added section, Newt's mind wandered. And, much as it did nowadays, it wandered in the direction of Credence.

He worried him.

After what happened in Diagon Alley, Credence had only spoken once. He barely touched the food that Newt brought up to him from the pub downstairs. All that Credence did was just… lie in bed, either sleeping or staring out the frosted window above it. Newt hadn't even seen him move to use the _bathroom._

The only sign that something— _anything_ —was even remotely alright was Pickett.

Sending Pickett to Credence had been a moment of desperation for Newt. Having exhausted all other avenues, he didn't know what he could do. He had done everything he could to help Credence. But, nothing had worked.

And now?

Little had changed, but Pickett had grown attached.

He napped in Credence's cropped hair. He tenderly patted his scarred hands and used his thumb as a pillow. Once, much to Newt's amusement, he had painstakingly pulled the blankets over his ward on one particularly cold morning all by himself. Of course, Newt had initially went over to help the tiny creature, but that had only earned him a strong glare.

Credence was a mystery wrapped up in an enigma trapped within a paradox.

But Pickett? He could benefit from this. Perhaps instead of having someone take care of him 24/7, maybe all he had needed was someone to take care of. Maybe this way he could finally grow some independence and not have to be carried around in Newt's pocket everywhere.

Not that Newt minded, of course.

 _Ugh_ , no wonder the other bowtruckles claimed him of favoritism.

"What am I going to do?" Newt sighed.

"Credence—you remember Credence, right?" he waved his wand overhead, adjusting the salinity to better suit the larger enclosure, "He was there the first day you and I met."

Newt smiled.

"He's a nice kid, all things considered. Kind. Considerate. Overwhelmingly helpful. Like ridiculously helpful, but he means well," he continued between incantations, "And I've never met someone with such a flourishing curiosity before, let alone at his age. I went through _two entire volumes_ of Madame Camembert's Cantankerous Cabaret when we visited Flourish & Botts. Speaking of, I need to finish the latest book. Monsieur Roquefort just confessed his feelings to Lady Provolone and—"

The Kraken's head popped out of the sea kelp, dark eyes piercing through Newt's soul.

"Right. Off topic."

Newt ran his hand through his hair and breathed deeply.

"I feel… helpless," he confessed, "Credence is just so scared. All the time. I mean, Pickett used to be just as jittery, but I can't exactly carry Credence around in my pocket all day."

Although, given the right spell…

Newt finished the last incantation and surveyed his work. The makeshift ocean now ran a few nautical miles deep, in both width and length too. It wasn't perfect and would need constant readjustment, but until they booked their passage to Italy, this would just have to do for now.

"Go ahead and try it out, darling," he nodded over.

The Kraken slowly crept out from her sea kelp haven, trepidatious for only a moment before barreling forward through the water into depths unexplored. As Newt predicted, she went straight towards the wrecked pirate ship nestled sweetly against the sand-covered floor.

Krakens. Big huggers. Insatiable curiosity.

Newt placed his hands on his hips, brimming with accomplishment.

Tending to his creatures was easy. A mixture of intuition and experience benefited him well. Tending to people however…

He plopped down onto the ground and rested his head between his knees.

"For someone so easily frightened," Newt continued despite no longer having an audience, "Credence is… well, he's a natural at protecting others. Never would've expected it had I not seen it for myself."

He scratched behind his ear.

"There's this teller named Marcus. Worked over at Flourish & Botts ever since I can remember. He and I—" Newt grimaced, "Erm, well, we didn't exactly _get along_ that well when I was a kid. Ended up pushing him into a bookshelf once. Gave him that scar he boasts about so proudly over his eye. Claims he got it dueling a Dark Wizard—certainly not a scrawny Hufflepuff pulling one over him."

His eyes fluttered shut.

He remembered it like it was yesterday.

Newt had been engrossed in a book, of course: _La_ _Chanson_ _d'Oiseaux_. It was a children's fable intended for those far below Newt's age about a wizard so enraptured by a greenfinch's melody that he hadn't noticed a fox making away with his wand. It was simple reading, however, Newt had been so enraptured by the colorful blues and greens and enchanting yellows of the cover that he couldn't help himself but sit down and read it.

Besides, it was a _bookstore._ No one judged anyone for reading in a bookstore. He could have spent hours there losing himself between pages of parchment and ink. So, when a teenaged Marcus had crept up behind and yelled in his ear…

Well, needless to say that Newt responded appropriately.

By accidentally punching Marcus in surprise and crying back to his Mother.

Newt never claimed that it was one of his finer moments.

"He doesn't like me all that much," Newt sighed, "I took Credence there since they have the largest range of student texts. Hogwarts uses it as their preferred retailer whenever school starts up. We just happened to be there when Marcus was working and, of course, he started up with his usual antagonism. Nothing new. But—but Credence came to my rescue."

He chuckled at the irony of it all.

"Funny. Here I am supposed to be helping him and he's always the one doing the saving. Maybe _I_ should be _his_ apprentice."

Newt paused, and lifted his head.

The Kraken floated in front of him. Her eyes, blacker than the inky depths of the Mediterranean Sea, kept watch of the pensive wizard.

"He's... always the one doing the saving," Newt repeated slowly, rising to his feet, " _He's always doing the saving!_ Brilliant!"

On sheer impulse, Newt thrust his head and upper torso into the aquarium, opening his arms to the Kraken. She swam into his arms without hesitation and affectionately touched her tentacles to Newt's face, leaving behind round purple sucker marks against his skin.

Kraken hugs were _really_ the best hugs.

* * *

" _Reparo._ "

How much time had passed?

An hour?

A day?

A week?

The light blinded his eyes, so it must have at least been mid-morning. Credence rolled over, cheek pressed into the feather-stuffed pillow, and watched Newt working on the opposite end of the room.

"Good morning, Credence," Newt's chipper tone and ever-present smile made Credence feel all the more horrible for weighing him down with his despair. He would be so much better off without him.

"I was just about to head downstairs for breakfast if you wanted to join me."

Newt glanced back over his shoulder.

Credence looked away.

"Or I can bring you up a plate," Newt conceded and smoothed out his coat across the small wooden desk situated between the two double beds, "I just need to touch this up a bit first. The Occamies have become a bit nippy lately and ah, well… I'm afraid my clothes are taking the brunt of it."

Newt held his wand over the fabric. An atrocious tear had been ripped through the back, resembling more of a Maestro's prominent coattails than the usual overcoat.

" _Reparo._ "

Like an orchestra conductor, Newt waved his wand with a careful sort of grace over his coat. Slowly, the tear began to mend itself. Seam after seam stitched itself together until the garment looked as good as new, if not better.

 _As good as new..._

"There. That should do it!" Newt beamed and placed his wand upon the desk, slipping on his newly mended coat, "I'll be back in just a moment, okay? The head cook mentioned the other day that he'd be trying his hand at Belgian Waffles and, I don't know about you, but I'm eager to see what he has in store."

He headed out the door, popping his head around the corner once to say, "I'll bring some up and we can eat together," before leaving altogether.

Credence sat up in bed for the first time in days.

The witch had left.

The witch had left… _and he had forgotten his wand._

He had to return any moment. He had to remember that he had left something important behind.

But when he didn't, Credence rose to his feet.

He didn't know what he was doing. Credence knew on some level that he shouldn't be invading Newt's personal property let alone using it for his own selfish purposes. He imagined that using another witch's wand without permission was akin to blasphemy. But—

 _But…_

Gently, Credence pulled out the shredded paper butterfly from his pocket and placed it on the table.

Pickett climbed down from his shoulders and seated himself on the edge of the desk, giving him a disapproving look.

"Oh, Pickett… don't give me that. I'm only borrowing it. Promise," Credence said softly, "Just for a little while."

He was just fixing his mistakes.

He didn't even know if it would work.

Pickett blew him a disparaging raspberry and turned up his nose. It seemed that he wanted to play no part in this. Credence didn't blame him, but still. He needed to at least t _ry._

Newt's wand slipped smoothly into his hand, as if it had always belonged there. The wood was lighter than Credence had imagined it would be. It was smooth and supple, springy yet strong. It fitted Newt's personality perfectly.

He sucked in a deep breath and stretched out his arm.

The wand tip hovering over the paper butterfly.

" _Reparo._ "

* * *

Newt peeked around the corner.

Leaving behind his wand had been an agonizing decision, but a necessary one. It didn't help though that plenty of things could go wrong. Credence was untrained and that alone could have spelled disaster, pun intended. If the wand refused to cooperate, or if Credence unleashed too much magic, everything could have exploded in his face and this entire endeavor would have been all for naught. That and Newt would've been out of a wand which was, y'know, not exactly ideal.

However, Credence's cry of delight and the stunning flash of white paper wings that followed made it all worth it.

Credence cupped his hands together and the paper butterfly fluttered inside. He spun around, laughing and crying all at once.

"You're safe," he shuddered between sobs, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm never going to let anything happen to you ever again, Prudence."

Credence had named it?

 _When had that happened?_

"Pickett? Pickett, please look at me," Credence leaned down, face-to-face with the stubborn bowtruckle, "Oh, I know I shouldn't have done this but… I—I want you to meet my friend."

Pickett continued pouting for half a second more before giving Credence a second glance, relenting with a tiny huff.

"Thank you," Credence gleamed and raised his hands, placing the paper butterfly atop the desk, "Prue meet Pickett. Pickett meet Prue."

"I hope they get along well," Newt finally stepped back inside, "Pickett has always been a bit of a loner when it comes to creatures his own size."

Credence jumped and spun around, eyes wide and hands clasped against his chest.

"Mr. Newt!" he backed into the desk and caused it to sharply jangle, of which earned a rather staunch glare from Pickett and a wicked fluttering of protest from Prue, "I—I wasn't doing anything. I didn't mean to—I just—I—I'm sorry."

"Credence."

He fell silent.

But Newt just glowed with pride.

"I think that congratulations are in order."

"I—" Credence fumbled over his words, "What?"

" _You cast your first spell!_ A flawless _Reparo_ if I might add," Newt stepped closer and offered the paper butterfly his hand, filling with absolute glee when it crawled happily inside, "I'm proud, Credence. Extraordinarily proud. The first time I tried to cast one, I caught the professor's hat on fire instead. Lost my House 50 whole points that day."

Credence looked flabbergasted, opening and closing his mouth like a gasping fish before squeaking out, "You… aren't mad?"

Newt blinked.

"Why would I be mad?"

"I—I used your wand," Credence nervously stuttered out, twiddling his fingers together, "I shouldn't have. _I know I shouldn't have._ It belongs to you and I shouldn't touch other people's belongings. I—I betrayed your trust and I—I'm so sorry."

Newt didn't know how to respond.

Even when Credence was doing well— _spectacularly_ well—he was still plagued by crippling anxiety and fear.

"Credence, all the best adventures begin with _'You shouldn't have done this…'"_ Newt brought the paper butterfly to Credence's chest, bemusedly watching it fly straight onto his lapel, "Even better adventures begin with helping someone else."

Newt reached out and hesitated for a moment before patting Credence's shoulder.

"You didn't cast your first spell for yourself. You did it for—" his brows furrowed, "Prue, was it?"

"Y—yes."

"Prue then," Newt said, "You did it for Prue."

Credence averted his gaze, wringing his hands together so firmly that Newt swore it would leave behind bruises.

"But I suppose… if you're that worried over borrowing my wand, we'll just have to get that fixed."

Credence looked back up, a questioning look in his eyes.

Newt smiled.

"Let's get you a wand."

* * *

"Mr. Newt, I don't think this is such a good idea."

Hundreds of narrowed eyes drilled into his skull. A thousand footsteps shuffled away. A million hushed whispers recounted the destruction he had caused just a few days prior. Shame colored Credence's cheeks, the force of his sins weighing down his shoulders.

 _How can he walk like that? Pretending that nothing's wrong?_

 _Doesn't he know what he did?_

 _Why wasn't he arrested?_

 _He should be ashamed of himself._

 _Don't look at him, children. People like **that** should just stay at home._

Credence closed his eyes and breathed.

In and out.

But the voices surrounded him, encapsulating him in a suffocating cocoon of scarlet spiderwebs. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He was helpless as every word dragged through his chest like a knife, spilling wounds of sneers and snarls.

 _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry._

Credence stopped.

Eyes of milky white stared up at him, a broken body on the floor.

 _Ma._

"Why not?"

Light pierced through the darkness, opening his eyes to find a meadow of nothing less than kindness and concern.

"The sky is clear. The sun is shining," Newt stepped closer and smiled, "It's the perfect day for purchasing a wand."

"Because of what I did…" Credence's voice was hardly a whisper amongst the bustling crowd, "I shouldn't be here, Mr. Newt. I did something… horrible and they all know it."

"If that's truly the case, then they're gossiping about _me._ Not you."

"I don't know…"

"You're my responsibility," Newt said firmly, "As my apprentice, everything that you do is a reflection of me. Your burdens are mine to bear. Besides, it was only a crack in the street and a few shop-windows broken. Diagon Alley has dealt with much worse before."

Credence twiddled his thumbs.

"But what they're saying… What if they hate you?"

"What happened was an accident. What everyone else thinks about is their problem," Newt offered him his hand, "I only care about _you_ , Credence. So, how would you like to move forward from here?"

Always with the choices. Credence couldn't think of a time where Newt had made any decision without consulting with him first. If he said that he never wanted to step foot in Diagon Alley again, Newt would turn around right now and walk with him back to safety—no questions asked.

But did he really want that?

The webs around him unraveled.

Credence breathed slowly, in and out, and slipped his hand into his.

"I would like a wand."

"Well then," Newt pushed open the door right beside them, silver bells chiming overhead, "Welcome to Ollivander's."

Credence flushed, having not realized that they'd been standing in front of their destination the entire time. Newt cheerily stepped inside. However, when Credence hesitated over the threshold, he looked back questioningly.

"Credence?"

"Are you sure this is okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Am I…" he thought back to Mr. Graves, "…worthy?"

Newt frowned and opened his mouth to say something before closing it. After a moment, he asked, "What do you think?"

Credence looked away.

"I want to be," he murmured, "But I—I don't know if I am…That I've earned the right to be—to be a wizard. To be like you."

His outburst had only reconfirmed his doubts. Credence wanted this, more than anything else but… if he couldn't control his magic, then did he even deserve to have it? If he couldn't use it to protect those nearest to him, then what even was its purpose? If all he did was hurt and destroy, then what was he even doing here?

Newt squeezed his hand.

"Do you trust me?"

Credence looked up, surprised.

"Yes."

"Then let's give this a chance," Newt smiled, warm and kind, "I promise you'll find your answer inside."

Credence nodded and, slowly, stepped through the doorway.

The wandmaker's shop wasn't anything like what Credence imagined it to be. A thick layer of ancient dust blanketed the overstocked shelves, nearly bursting apart from all the thin butterscotch boxes shoved inside. Potted plants covered the front desk, the wild vines and fronds nearly obscuring it from view.

Newt reached over the side and rang the service bell.

A surprised shout came from the backroom, followed shortly after by a loud crash and sudden shuffling of feet. The door swung open and a man, no older than 40 or 50 with frizzy blond hair and an owl-eyed expression, stumbled inside.

"Mr. Scamander! I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Garrick," Newt greeted, looking down and shifting awkwardly from foot-to-foot, "Nice to see you again. I—"

"Wait, don't tell me!" the wandmaker held up a finger, "13 ½ inches, reasonably springy, cypress wood… Dragon heartstring core, yes?"

"Your memory is astounding."

"Not memory, my boy, but respect for the craft," the wandmaker chirped and turned his immediate attention unto Credence, "And who is this? I don't recall ever seeing you here, Mister…?"

"Barebone," Credence answered quietly, stepping behind Newt and hiding in the comfort of his shadow, "Credence Barebone."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Barebone. I'm Garrick Ollivander," he greeted him politely, as any proper shopkeeper should, "And how can I be of service today? Could I interest you gents in a velvet case or perhaps a wand cleaning?"

"Not today," Newt declined, "Actually, we're doing a little shopping for Credence here before hitting the road again, so we don't have too much time to spare. He's my new American Apprentice. But… you see, there's this _problem._ Here we were, halfway across the pond when his wand turns up missing. Fancy that! Searched the deck high and low, couldn't find it. And I thought that, maybe, since you're the best wandmaker England has to offer, maybe we could, erm, pick up a quick replacement?"

"I'm glad that you thought of me, Mr. Scamander," Ollivander beamed and clapped his hands together, "We'll get started right away."

"Perfect!" Newt released Credence's hand and pointed back towards the front entrance, "I'll be waiting right outside."

Credence's eyes widened. He quickly latched onto Newt's sleeve, knuckles turning bone white, silently pleading not to leave him alone.

"Wand selection is a private affair," Newt seemed to read exactly what was going through Credence's mind and smiled reassuringly, "You're in safe hands, trust me. Garrick's family has been doing this for centuries."

He reached over and tapped Credence's lapel. The paper butterfly fluttered her wings in protest.

"Besides," he said, "You have Prudence and Pickett. I may not be with you, but you're not alone."

That may have been true, but Credence still didn't want to let him go.

But he did.

Because despite all his fears, despite all his doubts, he _trusted_ Newt. So Credence just stood there, watching him head out the entrance and wave cheerily through the front window. Credence slowly raised his hand and awkwardly wriggled his fingers.

It was only once Newt was out of sight did Credence glance tentatively back over his shoulder. Owlish eyes locked with his within an instant. A shiver shot up his spine. Such a gaze was disconcerting. Not that it was malicious—far from it—but somehow… it felt like he was being picked apart inch by inch, atom by atom, until his naked soul was left bare within nothing more to hide behind.

He didn't know if he was ready for this. Being around magic and learning about it in books were one thing. But to finally possess a wand of his own… it would signal the end of the chapter of his life spent without magic. This would be the end of his old life, but also a new beginning.

All he had to do was turn the page.

Sucking in a deep breath, Credence turned around and faced the ever-watching wandmaker, "So…"

"So," Ollivander repeated with an accommodating smile, "What was your old wand like, Mr. Barebone?"

Credence froze.

"Oh… uhm," he swallowed thickly, "I suppose it was… brown with little carvings on the end?"

Those owlish eyes sparkled in amusement.

"You've never owned a wand before, have you?" Ollivander clicked his tongue and disappeared amongst the shelves, "I've been in the wand-making business for years, Mr. Barebone. My ancestors have served thousands of witches and wizards throughout history. Some good. Some great. Some who just wanted to be left alone. Mostly children though, coming in for their very first wand."

Ollivander returned, carrying a cardboard box in hand. He blew across it, shaking off the dust, and carefully lifted off the top.

"I know those wide eyes. That awe and wonder are the same, regardless of age. I don't know what your circumstances are, Mr. Barebone. I don't know what you've gone through or how you came under the tutelage of our young Mr. Scamander, however…"

He presented Credence an ebony wand, the sloping handle reminiscent of crows flying through the creeping shadows of a moonless night. It was severe and powerful, but possessed an elegance that Credence felt unworthy of.

"…I would be honored to help you find your first," Ollivander finished and offered him the handle, "So, let's see if this wand chooses you, shall we?"

Credence's heart pounded.

A wild thrumming coursed through his veins.

Something feral and ancient awakened the moment he touched the wooden handle. Magic summoned him and Credence, without a second's hesitation, answered its call. He wrapped his hand around the wand and extended his arm towards the sky.

And felt like he was _home._

* * *

Newt paced outside.

Any moment now, either Credence was going to come out with a new wand in hand and they'd be on their merry way to their next destination or he was going to be on the receiving end of one of Garrick's lectures. He didn't know why he hadn't just come out with the truth. Newt hadn't come with any intention on lying about why they needed a wand. It just… happened.

He chewed the corner of his lip.

Obscurials were just so rare. Even more so, unheard of in adults. Newt had just wanted Credence to have an authentic wand-choosing experience like everyone else. He didn't deserve to be marveled at like some circus freak or shunned for what he was. He deserved to be treated as Credence. Just Credence.

Not an Obscurial.

Silver bells and heavy sniffling signaled his apprentice's reappearance.

Newt turned around, an apology readied at his lips, only to pause before he could utter a single word.

Because Credence, wide-eyed and sobbing, clutched a _wand_ to his chest. He wobbled and, somehow, Newt managed to catch him in just enough time for his legs to give way completely from underneath him and buckle forwards. The pair landed in a crumpled pile outside Ollivander's, Credence crying inconsolably into his chest and Newt wondering what in Merlin's name had happened in there.

He swore that if Garrick had decided to reprimand Credence instead of Newt like how he deserved—

But before Newt could finish such a thought, Credence looked up at him.

And smiled.

"I have a cedar wand, Mr. Newt," his hands trembled, "15 inches long. Still. And a—a unicorn hair core. It chose me, Mr. Newt. _Me._ I went through four—no, _five_ different wands, and this one chose me. It chose me!"

If Credence's smile stretched any wider, Newt swore that it would develop a life of its own and hop off his face entirely.

"I have a wand. It's mine _. Mine_. And—and no one can take that away from me. I'm a wizard, Mr. Newt."

Credence covered his mouth.

" _I'm a wizard._ "

* * *

 **Please leave your comments and constructive criticisms below ! All comments, big and small, are welcome here !**

 **I'm also _edelweissroses_ on Ao3 and Tumblr.**


	7. Ooh, Heaven is a Place on Earth

"Intrigued."

Ollivander had stood before him, a curious expression carved across his timeless face. His brows had arched high into his forehead, creating deep caverns into otherwise relatively smooth skin, and his hand had methodically rubbed the stubble of his chin. Up until that moment, Credence had gone through four different wands.

Potted plants had exploded into smithereens. Credence had been flung backwards into the shelves, toppling over at least a hundred boxes in the process. Poor Ollivander's work-apron had been set aflame. _Twice_.

Everything they had tried had spelled nothing but disaster.

But this one…

It _sang_ to him.

Credence had held out the wand, the twisted handle arching into his palm as if it had always been intended for his hands and his hands alone. It thrummed through him—embracing him, nurturing him, caressing him. He and the wand were one, an extension of the other. Together, they were complete.

"Very intrigued," Ollivander hummed again, "It's curious, really. I've offered up that wand to hundreds of aspiring witches and wizards that've walked through my door. None have ever garnered such a response."

Ollivander tapped his chin before approaching Credence, offering his hand to take the wand back. Credence's grip on it had only tightened.

"I don't understand."

"The wandwood is flawed. The host tree I used for it was struck by lightning when it was a sapling. I imagine that it was only through sheer force of will that it survived. I thought it might make for a unique wand structure, so I experimented," Ollivander smiled a smile that was wise beyond his years, "Unfortunately, it only made it extraordinarily picky."

"I want it," Credence had said.

"Ah," he hummed sympathetically, "I'm afraid, my dear boy, it's not a matter of what you want but what the wand wants. Come, come now. Let's try another. There's a new Holly model that might do nicely—"

Ollivander had made to take the wand, only for a tiny volt of electricity to shoot through fingers, enough that even Credence had felt it.

Ollivander stumbled backwards, eyes and mouth parted in surprise.

"I'm sorry," Credence had pressed the wand against his chest, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

" _Interesting._ "

"Sir?"

"Let me draw up the paperwork, Mr. Barebone. It'll take scarcely a moment," he had chuckled and went back to rubbing his chin as he disappeared into the backroom, "Not that picky after all."

Credence couldn't stop grinning.

A cedar wand, 15 inches, stiff, with a unicorn hair core.

He owned a cedar wand.

15 inches.

Stiff.

With a unicorn hair core.

Pure elation swelled within his chest and it was nigh unstoppable at this point, like a thousand floating butterflies caught in a warm summer breeze. That moment kept replaying itself over and over again in his head. _Not so picky after all._ God, was this even real? Credence swore that if he jumped right now, he would rise high above Diagon Alley and never come down, like a lost balloon free to dance amongst the clouds without a single care in the world.

He'd been chosen.

Hundreds of others had tried before him, but the wand had wanted _Credence_. Not them.

Unwilling to let his prized possession out of sight, Credence clutched the wand close to his chest, both hands protectively wrapped around the handle. These past few hours were like a dream. If he dared to put it away now—If he so much as placed it in his pocket…

…he feared that he would wake up.

Because surely this couldn't be real.

Wands.

Wizards.

Magic.

Pickett.

Prue.

Newt…

These things just didn't happen to Credence. Happiness had never been intended for him.

But, by God, Credence loved his wand.

Within an instant, Prudence ruffled her paper wings and climbed down his shirt onto his wand. He smiled. Who knew if she actually understood what it was and what it meant to him? Perhaps to her, the wand was just another cool branch for her to perch and preen on.

Soon even Pickett emerged from his coat pocket and climbed up onto his wrist. The curious bowtruckle inspected the warped wood, reaching out to touch it only for Prudence to scamper down the base and swat his hand away.

Pickett, ever disgruntled, blew a raspberry at her.

Credence snorted.

They reminded him of his sisters, especially when Modesty had first been brought home. She and Chastity had fought tooth and nail whenever Ma was out and, all too often, Credence ended up having to step between them before they got hurt. They'd pout in their rooms or refuse to speak to each other after, but it never lasted more than hour until one of them stomped over and hugged the other.

He wondered what they were doing now.

Pickett waved his arms at the paper butterfly, attempting to dismount her. However, Prudence nestled on the furthest part away from him out of pure and utter spite.

"Come on you two," Credence chastised softly, more amused than genuinely upset, "I'm sure we can come to a comprise."

Pickett wrinkled his nose. Prudence seconded it.

"Rude," he shook his head in mock exasperation and nudged Prudence forward with his finger, "That's fine though. That just means that I get to make the decision then and I say it's Pickett's turn to explore now. You can go back on later."

Prue fluttered her wings like an erratic hummingbird in protest while Pickett smugly pranced in triumph. Credence couldn't help but laugh.

That was… until he felt someone _watching_ him.

* * *

Credence was a natural at everything he did.

How had a wizard as talented as him gone so unnoticed, so unappreciated for so long?

He had beaten the odds time and time over again. He'd survived an Obscurus draining the very life out of him twice as long as anyone ever had. He had seen through the guise of a master manipulator like Gellert Grindelwald and fought back against him. He had survived a full-fledged attack by the highest-ranking members of MACUSA. He had found Newt all on his own and had even ended up saving him on multiple occasion. He'd cast his first spell without consequence and—

He was a natural with magical creatures.

Newt had never been rendered more breathless by Credence than in this very moment.

Beaming down at Pickett and Prudence fighting over ownership of his new wand like children. Those impossibly black eyes of his, so normally filled with anxiety and sorrow, brightened with life and made Newt stop in his tracks. Credence cared for them.

Perhaps, even adored them.

But that life drained when Credence noticed him watching. That wonderful light extinguished, replaced by fear and doubt.

It was heartbreaking to watch.

What was it like to live with never-ending fear? Always wondering when kindness would turn into hate? Constantly fretting over every little thing that could be misconstrued as wrong? What was it like to see the world through his eyes, where danger lurked around every corner? To be afraid of those he trusted most? What was it like to be him?

Newt stepped closer to Credence. He flinched at every step.

Merlin, Newt wanted to embrace him and never let go. He wanted to reassure him that everything would be alright. That he had nothing to fear from him. But words could only do so much.

"Fizzle Whiskers."

A moment passed.

Confusion replaced the fear in Credence's eyes this time.

"Fizzle Whiskers," Newt repeated more firmly this time, shoving his hands into his pockets, "That's the word I'll use when I'm mad or upset. That way you won't have to wonder or be afraid of what I'll do anymore."

He glanced down the cobblestone street, unable to look at what emotion would be swimming in Credence's eyes now.

"Not to say that you should be scared of me when I'm mad. The most I'll ever do is lecture," he smiled awkwardly, "Though if you take Leta's word for it, you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of one of those either. Apparently they last, and I quote, bloody forever."

That only would've happened, though, if one of his creatures got hurt.

But even then, whether it happened by ignorance or good intent, Newt certainly wouldn't blame him for what went wrong. He would just fix the problem and give him advice on what to do instead in the future. It was in his nature to care, not to harm.

"What I'm trying to say is… I—I am not whoever hurt you. I will _never_ hurt you. So please," Newt sucked in a breath, "Don't be afraid to smile. It's not a crime to be happy."

It took a few moments of them standing there in silence—neither party looking at each other—before Pickett looked between them and blew Newt a raspberry.

"I beg your pardon? What did I do?" Newt huffed.

"He does that a lot," Credence murmured.

"He never used to. It was only after we ventured through New York that he started growing an attitude," Newt leaned down face-to-face with the bowtruckle and wagged his finger, "Next thing I know, you'll be throwing perfectly good tea into a perfectly good harbor, declare Revolution and ally with the French."

Pickett began squeaking rapidly.

"You're going to _what?!_ " Newt's eyes bulged and said in teasing exasperation, "That's it. No more blueberries after dinner for you, mister."

A small laugh, small enough that he wasn't quite certain whether it was real or imagined, pulled Newt out of his argument. He locked eyes with Credence.

And found happiness swirling within them.

Newt cracked a tiny grin before they laughed together at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

"Does Pickett usually have blueberries for dessert?" Credence asked.

"Oh, he gorges on them! The little glutton," Newt said cheerily, "I dare that Pickett is to blueberries as the Niffler is to shiny things."

"The Niffler?"

"I'll introduce you to him when we get back."

A shy, uncertain grin crossed Credence's lips, "Should I bring a quarter?"

Wait.

Wait a minute.

Did his ears deceive him or did _Credence_ just make a joke?

Newt beamed and clasped his shoulders, leaning in exceptionally close. What was that that Mother was always telling him about personal space? Ah, no matter. It clearly wasn't important.

"I—"

"In the name of Merlin's saggy left—If it ain't Newt Scamander," a familiar voice droned from behind them, "If you're gonna be blockin' the sidewalk any longer than that, Arty, I should start chargin' you rent."

* * *

Credence flinched and pulled away from Newt's grasp.

A curly-haired brunette with hardened brown eyes glared from the doorway of Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary. Her arms crossed disapprovingly over her chest, tanned biceps bulging with clearly formidable strength. She was far _, far_ taller than either Credence or Newt—which was really saying something—and looked as if she could lift them up with just her pinky finger and not even break a sweat.

This woman was intimidating strong, and she knew it.

"Hortencia," Newt greeted, turning around and rubbing the back of his neck, "Uhm, sorry about that. Have you met Credence yet?"

The woman—Hortencia—raised a brow.

Newt squirmed.

Letting out an aggravated huff, Hortencia grabbed the bronzed cane resting against her hip and hobbled inside. When he and Newt apparently didn't move enough to her liking, she exasperatedly jerked her head for the pair to follow.

"Uhm... Mr. Newt?" Credence inquired hesitantly, "Would you like me to wait outside again?"

Newt paused from entering the entering the apothecary, holding the door open with one foot already inside.

"No," he answered quietly at first before straightening his shoulders and saying firmly, "No, I think it would be better suited if you joined me this time around."

Newt turned around fully and took on that reassuring tone of his that he usually used when introducing him to something new and, perhaps, the slightest bit frightening. So, basically _everything._

"I should say… you might find it a bit strange in there," he said, "Apothecaries contain potion ingredients and sometimes—sometimes potion ingredients are, erm, _weird._ Yes, weird. Weird is a good word. But, I assure you—No, I give you my _word,_ the safest place in all of Diagon Alley is here."

Credence looked down. Pickett and Prudence were watching him, as if trying to garner his reaction. But they didn't need to worry about him this time though.

Because Newt wouldn't lie to him. If he said that this place was safe, then Credence believed him.

He followed Newt inside.

If stepping into Diagon Alley was like stepping into a world of magic and wonder, then walking into Mr. Mulpepper's was like stepping into its secret underbelly of odds and ends.

Within an instant, Credence was surrounded by peculiarities. Viscous green ooze swirled inside glass jars. Strands of garlic adorned the shelves. Containers of floating eyes, frog legs, and what appeared to be fingernail clippings rolled across the floor. Mysteriously glowing rocks trembled on a nearby table. A tarantula waved as they passed by.

Credence's grip on his wand tightened.

"Klaudius has been waitin' for you, Newt. He assured me that you'd pick up your order in the morning. So here I was waitin', twiddlin' my thumbs, makin' repairs… and then I waited for two mornings. And then three and four… get where I'm going here?" Hortencia scoffed, rubbing her thigh, "Next time, be more specific on _which_ morning you intend on stoppin' by."

When a pained hiss escaped her thin lips, Newt politely looked away.

"Someone important to me was in trouble, Orti," he murmured as she limped behind the service desk and took a seat, "I wasn't going to leave them alone."

"Lemme guess," she snorted, "An owl sprained their foot and you just _couldn't help_ but nurse them back to health."

"Something like that."

Credence sucked in a sharp breath.

No.

Newt had been taking care of _him._

Back when time had blurred together, it had seemed to Credence that Newt had been keeping his distance from him. Newt had tried to engage him, of course. He brought him food and water and talked to him regularly despite receiving little response. For the most part, though, Newt had spent most of that time in his suitcase working.

But Newt had been putting his life on hold to keep Credence company. To make sure he was nearby if he needed him.

Credence suddenly found his shoes incredibly fascinating.

"Ugh, Merlin's saggy Y-fronts," Hortencia rested her elbow against the service desk, a surprising fondness in her expression that wasn't anywhere near reflected in her tone, "You're a bleedin' heart, Arty."

"Better than a stone-cold one, as I always say," Newt said.

Hortencia turned her formidable gaze onto Credence.

He huddled further behind Newt.

"You're the kid that cracked our window."

Credence flushed, "I—I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Hortencia ordered sternly. He clamped his mouth shut.

"Orti," Newt, thankfully, came to his rescue, "Be nice."

"Alright, alright," she said, reaching underneath the table.

"What I meant to say was you got yourself a free pass, kid, since you're such good friends with this imbecile. He put off coming here to take care of his _injured owl_ ," she smirked and pulled out a bag, setting it on the table, "What's your secret, hmm? I was watchin' you two outside actin' like two peas in a pod. I've never seen Newt _not_ stumblin' over his words and tryin' his best to slink away from casual conversation, just like he conveniently is _right now."_

Newt stepped away from the tarantula, holding his hands in front of his face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said innocently, "I was just saying hello to Eliezer."

"Really?" Credence quirked a brow.

He was under the impression that Newt was just the opposite of the soft-spoken, awkward guy that Hortencia was making him out to be.

Hortencia scrutinized them closely, leaning over the counter-space to get a better look at the pair, "You must really like this kid, Newt."

"He's not a kid," he corrected, "He's my apprentice."

"An apprentice," she repeated and sat back, slapping her good knee, "Great gallopin' gorgons, you must _REALLY_ like him then!"

Hortencia's laughter boomed through the room, shaking the hinges and rattling the windows. Well, maybe not _that_ , but it would've been cool in a literary and badass sense if it did.

"Kid—Credence, was it?" she wiped her eyes, "Next time you need a rare ingredient or need to make a large order, just lemme know. First order is on the house for being our most valued customer's good friend."

"Most valued customer?" Newt perked up a little, "Does that mean I get a discount the next time I come in?"

"Don't push your luck, Arty," Hortencia pushed the bag of potions across the counter, "We'll start givin' you discounts when you start arrivin' on time."

"Fair enough," Newt retrieved his order and gave her a little wave, "I'll be back in… let's say a month or two?"

"So, about a year in Newt time."

"Sounds about right," he smiled awkwardly.

"Where you headin' off now?"

"Oh you know…" he shifted from foot to foot,"...here and there."

"Oh, so secretive," she drawled.

"You know I have to be," he pivoted on his foot, « It was good seeing you, Orti."

Hortencia smiled and, when Newt made to leave, gestured Credence closer. He hesitated, looking back at Newt's retreating figure.

"Oi, I won't bite you, kid."

After a second more, Credence cautiously approached and leaned over the service desk when Hortencia gestured to do so. She pressed her lips against his ear.

"Take care of him for me, won't you?"

Credence pulled back, looking puzzled.

"I know Newt. We might not have been in the same House back when we were kids, but the Hufflepuff has a right Gryffindor heart when it comes to them magical creatures, so he's alright in my book. I guess you could say we were—" Hortencia wrinkled her nose, "We talked to each other."

"You were friends?"

"Ew," she clicked her tongue, "I don't have friends."

But the look in her eyes said differently. She rested her muscled arms across the countertop and grunted.

"Newt's our most valued customer, and because he's our most valued customer, that means I gotta look out for him. He's good for business. So, be patient with him, okay?" she pointed a stern finger at him, "Time don't mean a thing to him. He could stay awake for a full 24 hours without batting an eye and still be surprised when the sun comes up. He's a bit of a mess like that."

Credence remembered the state of the cabin on the boat ride there.

"I'm aware."

"Seen it for yourself, have you?" Hortencia smiled a little— _just_ a little, "Arty loves his creatures. Likes them more than people. Well, he _understands_ them more than people, so keep that in mind too, yeah? Oh, what else should you know? _Ah!_ If he gets overwhelmed or frustrated, and trust me, you'll know when it happens, just hand him his scarf."

"His scarf?"

"He'll tell you in his own time, but I trust you'll take my word for it in the meantime," she said, "You've got caretaking in your bones, Credence. I can feel it. So, I'm trustin' you to take care of him."

She leaned back and waved him off, "Be off with you now."

She didn't have to tell him twice. And yet… he still hesitated by the door.

"Mr. Newt isn't—He isn't a mess."

"Excuse me?"

Credence breathed. In and out.

"Mr. Newt is just different from other people," he rested his hand on the door-frame and glanced over his shoulder back at Hortencia, "What matters most is that he—he tries his best. At everything. I—I like that about him."

Silence.

"Have a pleasant day, Miss Hortencia."

He headed out the door to where Newt was waiting for him.

"Credence," Newt beamed at him and closed the new bag of potions he'd been inspecting, "What were you and Orti talking about for so long?"

Credence blushed.

"N—nothing."

A puzzled expression crossed Newt's face before ultimately shaking his head.

"I believe you," he grinned, "Let's be off then, shall we? I have something I want to show you."

* * *

Newt anxiously paced at the bottom of the ladder, his heart pitter-pattering like a bird staring down the loaded barrel of a hungry hunter's rifle.

Merlin's beard, what was he doing?

He'd invited Credence down into his private sanctuary, that's what. No, not _his_ sanctuary. His _creature's_ sanctuary.

Jacob had been different when he had brought him down to see his creatures for the very first time. Credence meant his creatures no harm, nevertheless, that didn't mean that he didn't possess the capability of doing so. Obscurials, no matter how sympathetic they were, posed a constant danger to their surroundings. But Jacob? He was a muggle. He posed no immediate danger to the magical beasts housed within his suitcase.

Newt twirled a strand of hair around his finger.

Jacob.

Sweet, lovable Jacob.

The Statute of Secrecy was a real pain in the arse sometimes.

A noise on the ladder startled him out of his reverie.

Credence had finally come down.

And he was clutching his hands to his chest like a frightened child leaving for their very first day of school. Pickett had already stationed himself on his shoulder and Prudence, having made temporary peace with the bowtruckle, followed suit.

He and Credence locked eyes and smiled at each other, both plagued no doubt with different types of anxiety and fear.

"I imagine…" Credence swallowed thickly, "…that this'll be different from a walk around Central Park Zoo."

Newt snorted and covered his mouth to maintain some semblance of dignity.

"Yes, I do think so."

The corners of Credence's lips quirked up into not quite a smile, but not quite a grimace either. He glanced around the small messy cabin and rubbed his hands together as if restraining the itch to start picking up clutter.

"Is there anything that could—uhm…" Credence trailed off meekly and turned his gaze down to the floor.

"Hurt you? Goodness no," Newt shook his head quickly and gestured to the front door, "All of my creatures aren't dangerous. They wouldn't hurt anyone unless you threatened them first. They're like—like—oh, bugger, what's the metaphor."

He lost himself in thought for a moment.

"Like Hippogriffs!" Newt snapped his fingers together, "Treat them with respect and patience and they will treat you with the same."

But Credence only furrowed his brows, "Hippogriff?"

Oh.

Right.

"Oh yes, of course," Newt played with the fringes of his scarf before taking it off altogether and flinging it onto a nearby chair. His coat soon followed. "Muggle upbringing. Forgive me. Why do I keep forgetting that?"

 _You'd lose your head if it weren't screwed on, Newt. Do you need it stamped across your forehead in block letter before you finally remember?_

 _No, what good would that do you? You'd have to use a mirror to look at it._

Newt grabbed a large bucket of fish out of the ice box and opened the door out into the creature sanctuary.

"There's so much for you to learn, Credence," he headed out the door without a second thought to check whether or not his apprentice was following, "All in due time though. I'll show you our Hippogriffs after dinner. But first? The Kraken begs our attention."

* * *

Once more, Newt charged headfirst into the unknown while Credence lurked behind in the shadows.

Credence hung onto the rickety old door-frame leading out into the sanctuary. His knees buckled underneath him, threatening to give out at any given second. This place… it was nothing like he had ever seen before. Diagon Alley had been a spectacular introduction to the world of magic. But this? This was on a whole other level.

No wonder Newt spent so much time in here. He had the very world at his fingertips.

He had deserts and mountains and flower-filled meadows. He had forests and hot springs and everything in between. The liberating smell of grass and dirt and seawater clung to the air, yet it was as warm and dry as a hot, sunny day. Everything was so strangely contradictory and _perfect._

This was what heaven looked like.

And Newt carried it around in his _suitcase._

Credence blinked away tears. He wasn't worthy enough of this place. He was just about to wipe his face and head back inside when Pickett yanked on his thumb.

"Ow," he looked down at the bowtruckle, "That hurt."

Pickett stood on his hand, his arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. When he was certain that he had Credence's full attention, he pointed towards a section of the sanctuary. Credence didn't understand what he was trying to say though and the confusion must have showed given how Pickett just blew an exasperated raspberry at him.

"Rude," Credence mumbled underneath his breath and inhaled, surprisingly fresh air filling his lungs. Somehow, it was cleaner than the air in Diagon Alley and far, _far_ cleaner than the air back home.

"Just…" he hesitated, "Just give me a minute."

He breathed in once more. In and out.

His fingers left the door frame slowly, one by one. He took a tentative step forward, and then another and another until he was few feet away now from the cabin.

He was here.

He was actually _here._

"Where do you want me to go, Pickett?"

The bowtruckle led him forward.

They wandered past a bog with floating green lights that seemed to follow their every move. They walked past a forest where feathered serpentine creatures poked their heads, one by one, out of their nest. They passed by a dirt-covered hidey-hole filled with shining, shimmering gold where curiosity got the best of him.

Credence looked inside.

And an angry platypus filled his vision and shooed him away.

"You must be the Niffler."

The creature greedily gathered a pile of gold coins around its body.

"Oh, no. I'm not gonna take it," Credence reassured and searched his pockets for anything remotely shiny that he could offer it, "I have…erm—I have a nickel?"

Credence held out the coin between his thumb and forefinger and tried to look as nonthreatening as possible. The small creature looked between him and the coin before snatching it out of his hands and stuffing it deep within its pouch.

Credence beamed.

So _, of course_ Pickett just had to pinch his thumb and ruin it.

"That's not very nice," Credence complained, waving goodbye to the Niffler as they set back down their path, "It was nice meeting you. I'll bring, uhm, a silver button the next time I come down here."

The Niffler perked up and stuck his head out of his hidey-hole, waving goodbye.

"See? Why can't you be like that?"

Pickett glared up at him and squeaked.

"Rude."

Credence continued through habitat after breathtaking habitat until they finally stopped in front of a large tree.

"Bowtruckles," Credence said, surprised, counting at least four climbing down the branches. He pulled Pickett off his shoulder and held him out to one of the lower-hanging limbs, "Is this your—your family?"

Pickett climbed onto the tree and bashfully hid behind the trunk.

"Pickett, I'm touched," Credence smiled, "You have a lovely home."

Not wanting to be ignored, Prudence flew up into the branches and explored the tree herself.

When one of the other bowtruckles started harassing her, Pickett climbed up the branches faster than Credence had ever seen him climb before and shoved them. The two argued amongst themselves for a moment, full of furious squeaking, until Pickett and Prudence were left alone to their own private branch.

"I'm surprised," Newt's voice declared unexpectedly close.

Credence flinched and turned his attention to the witch.

Their cheeks were nearly touching. They were so close together that, in that moment, Credence realized that Newt's eyes weren't completely green at all. Flecks of vibrant gold dotted across his eyes, as if they contained the very sun itself.

God almighty, his smile was even more blinding up close.

"Pickett rarely ventures out here anymore," Newt breathed, genuinely awed, "He usually prefers lounging in my pocket. I have to admit. I'm a little jealous."

"I'm sorry," he automatically apologized.

"What for? You helped Pickett come out of his shell," Newt turned that blinding smile onto him and grabbed his hand, tugging him along, "Come. I want to show you something."

Credence glanced worriedly back over his shoulder.

"But Pickett and Prue—"

"We'll come back for them in just a second."

Helpless, Credence stared at the back of Newt's head as he was dragged across the sanctuary. They passed a wintery wasteland and an African watering hole, beyond a depthless lake and a noxious swamp until they finally slowed upon reaching the aquarium. They passed section after section of large, dazzling creatures more beautiful than the next until—

Credence froze, his hand slipping away from Newt's.

She was _beautiful._

The Kraken's vermilion legs stretched out below her, moving and swaying in such a manner that denoted power. Her eyes, once small and beady, had grown as wide as dinner plates and as black as Credence's. She'd doubled—no, tripled in size and was still growing.

"She's getting so big," Credence breathed.

"By the time we get her home, she'll be as big as barge."

"Really?"

"I have no idea," Newt grinned, "Would you like to name her?"

Credence blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't really make it a habit naming creatures that are here for only a little while," Newt explained quickly, rubbing the back of his neck, "Pickett and Dougal will always be with me since they can't be rehabilitated back into the wild. But creatures like the Erumpent? The Kneazles? They all leave at some point or another. It's just the way it is. So when they have names… it's harder to let them go."

Credence didn't understand.

"Then… why ask me to name her?" he softly inquired.

Newt averted his gaze.

"Because she's the creature that brought me to you."

Time stopped.

He didn't know what to say. So Credence decided to think instead. What would be a name worthy enough of this moment? Ma used to name her children after the heavenly virtues. Credence, Modesty, Chastity. Even if they'd been called something different before, they would be re-baptized to herald in their new life under the Good Lord and signal their new beginning…

"Hope."

"Hmm?" Newt looked back up.

"I—" he said, "I think we should name her Hope."

"Hope," Newt repeated and tapped his chin with the back of his thumb, "I like it."

Credence rubbed his shoulder, ears tinged pink.

"I like it a lot," he repeated more enthusiastically this time and raised a finger, "Did I ever tell you why Pickett is named Pickett? You see, bowtruckles are really quite famous for being extraordinary lockpicks."

He donned a Cheshire grin.

"Hortencia threw her shoe at me when I told her. You get it, don't you?" he asked, "Pick- _ett?_ Pick it? I thought it was quite clever."

"You're not allowed to name anything ever."

Newt laughed, but Credence was horrified.

"I'm so sorry," he quickly apologized, hiding his face, "I don't know what came over me. I didn't—I didn't mean—"

"You're probably right," Newt said though, wrapping his arms around his waist to control his laughter, "Mum's told me the same thing ever since I named my first owl 'Owl.' Original, isn't it? And after Owl died of old age, I named my second one Not Owl because I felt like he couldn't replace him."

"I don't understand."

"You see, I named him Not Owl because—"

"Not that," Credence interrupted and flinched because he _definitely_ shouldn't have done that either. God, he was already in so much trouble. "I'm—I'm your apprentice and, as your apprentice, I shouldn't… talk back. Not like that. You're the one that's supposed to be telling me what to do, not the other way around."

He looked down at his shoes.

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, Credence…"

He closed his eyes, waiting to be punished.

"It's _because_ you're my apprentice that you _should_ talk back to me."

That wasn't supposed to happen. Credence looked up, confused, and found Newt smiling at him.

"And even if that were true, teaching like that... that's not my way and it never will be. You're funny, Credence, and intelligent. I like it when you ask me questions. I like it when you make me think. And I especially like your making fun of my ghastly name-giving skills," he clasped his shoulder, "Keep it up. You'll learn better if you allow yourself to be _you._ "

The light caught his eyes, illuminating the gold specks within them.

"Shall we, then? I think we have a boat to catch."

That's right.

They had an adventure to begin.

"I think we do."

* * *

 **Please leave your comments and constructive criticisms below ! All comments, big and small, are welcome here !**

 **I'm also _edelweissroses_ on Ao3 and Tumblr.**


	8. Adventure Awaits Who Least Expect It

"So," Credence swallowed, "I met the Niffler."

"You did?" Newt stepped onto the docking bridge as the passenger line moved forward but quickly gave Credence his full attention, "Did he steal your belt buckle? Your buttons?"

He wrinkled his nose and glanced down at his oxfords, suspicious, "Don't tell me he resorted to stealing the metal tips of your shoelaces. He's been known to do that."

"No," Credence almost snorted, "I gave him a nickel."

Although, he glanced down at his shoes to check. Just in case.

"Oh," Newt said, "Well, you did say that you were going to give him a quarter the other day."

"You're right," his eyes widened in realization and placed a hand against his cheek, "I need to amend this at once."

"Credence, you don't have to—"

"I'm a man of my word," he affirmed, though, and turned his attention to the ocean waves splashing against the dock underneath them, "The only problem is… I don't have a quarter. I suppose I'll just have to give him something shiny every time I see him in the meantime until I do."

Credence glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes, adding softly, "If that's alright."

Newt stared at him for a long moment before a small smile quirked at the corner of his lips, "I think he'd like that."

Credence looked back at the water, pleased.

Fluffy white seafoam floated along the edges like grounded clouds plagued to an eternity on the ocean. The faintest outline of fish and rusting bicycles could be spotted lurking underneath the murky waves. That pungent smell of seawater and industrial smoke that had greeted them when they first arrived still hung in the air, painting a dismal picture for the day instead of the brand-new start of an adventure.

Credence shifted his suitcase between hands. He was struggling with it, and his only contained _clothes_. Newt's held an entire world and he handled it with perfect ease, as if it were lighter than a feather. Who knows? Maybe it was. There was no telling the limits of what magic could do.

"How many creatures do you have in there?" he turned his attention back to Newt, "If you don't mind me asking."

"I don't mind at all. On the contrary, I encourage it," Newt responded. He looked pensive for a moment, fingers rising to his lips and twitching every so often while he mentally counted. "Around… 400 species and 1,064 creatures. No, wait. 1,065. I almost forgot our new addition."

"How is that possible?" Credence breathed, awed.

"Well as you could see, it's much bigger on the inside…" Newt lightly teased and nudged his shoulder to indicate as such.

His green eyes were so bright—always gleaming with the ferocity of a solar flare whenever he started talking about something he was passionate about. Nine times out of ten, it was about his creatures. But sometimes… Newt would talk about books he'd read, or his time in school, or all the adventures he'd had.

To think there were schools—actual _schools_ —for witchcraft and wizardry! Credence had never had the pleasure of a normal education, having been homeschooled for the most part, but knowing that there were genuine schools out there with tests and homework about magic? That was the most amazing thing he'd ever learned about this world.

He only wished that he wasn't too old to attend one.

But this way, he was able to tag along with Newt and that wasn't so bad at all, now was it?

"I run on a tightly knit schedule. It's why I'm down there so much," Newt said, "You see, every one of my creatures are there because they're either endangered, being rehabilitated, or can no longer survive in the wild. Everything I do revolves around their well-being."

He suddenly paused, that light in his eyes flickering.

"I—" Newt swallowed, "I released a Thunderbird in New York recently. That's why I was there, you see. I had hoped to bring him all the way back home to Arizona but, I suppose, plans change."

Plans change?

Newt didn't seem like the type of person that would settle for an excuse as simple as plans _change_ when it came to his creatures.

"Why did you release him in New York then?" Credence asked.

Newt looked away.

"I found someone who needed my help more. And I couldn't stay away."

Oh.

Even before they'd been properly introduced, Newt had been putting his life on hold for Credence.

"Thank you," he said quietly, "For everything. I—I don't know what I would've done with you."

"Oh, I'm sure you would've managed," Newt replied, twirling his hair, "You're clever, Credence. More than you give yourself credit for."

He smiled a little.

"So, what's the story on Pickett and his family?" Credence changed the subject, choosing not to dwell on the past a second longer, "Are they, uhm, endangered?"

"Fortunately no, not quite. Pickett has a terrible bout of anxiety and a propensity towards colds that makes him ill-suited to be returned to the wild. The others however…" Newt's expression turned a bit sheepish, "They were used in a thieving ring."

"And the Niffler?"

"What do you think?"

Credence pondered it for a moment. If bowtruckles made for excellent lockpicks and the Niffler loved pilfering shiny objects then—

"Was he part of the thieving ring too?"

"Go on," Newt's eyes shined.

"Was he…" Credence was more uncertain now, "…leader of the thieving ring?"

"As far as the Niffler's concerned, yes," he grinned, "He considers himself the mastermind of everything, devious little bugger. I'll have you know, when I first came across him, I had to pry him away from a box of his masters' Cuban cigars."

"He smoked?"

"Like a chimney," the line moved forward, but Newt remained shoulder-to-shoulder with him, "It took months to curb him of the nasty habit."

"What about the birds—snakes? The creatures near him. The ones in the nest?" Credence flushed and clamped his mouth shut, "Sorry."

He never could seem to break that nasty habit of his: asking too many questions. Ever since he could remember, it was always there getting him into trouble. It was just… like he was always searching for the answer to some grand mystery, always wanting to know more and why things were the way they were. The world was so large and vast, and time so short, that Credence just wanted to know as much as he could before it all ran out.

There was a time when he'd asked Ma questions, but she would only answer with God or the Devil. God the Almighty created the universe and everything within it. He was the Great Designer and had a purpose for every living soul in His domain. He was benevolent and kind and entrusted humanity with His greatest treasures. The Devil, however, brought humanity sin, and witches were his corrupted followers that wanted to watch God's world burn.

When he was a boy, Credence would always implore for more information. Why did God create the universe? If God created everything then did that mean that God created the Devil? If that was so, then wasn't God who introduced evil into His world? And, if He was the reason that evil existed, then what was the purpose of evil?

But Credence would receive no answers. Just a lashing for his blasphemy and a day locked in the closet to learn the value of silence and deference in the name of the Lord.

Credence bowed his head, demure and meek.

But Newt—wonderful _Newt_ —only continued to humor him.

"You mean the Occamies? Beautiful creatures, aren't they? I hatched them all myself—well, almost all of them. Jacob had a hand in that," Newt glanced down fondly at his suitcase, "One of them escaped back in New York. A couple creatures of mine did, actually. It was a whole debacle. Jacob, Queenie, Tina and I ended up having to go hunt them down."

He twirled his hair around his finger.

"They take on the size of whatever container they're in, you know. So, when one gets out of their nest, getting them back in can be quite a doozy," he grinned a little, "We'd only just managed to catch them with a cockroach, a tea kettle, and a bit of clever maneuvering on our part. It's curious, really. I've managed myself out of quite a few situations using a kettle—"

Newt continued on, but Credence only focused on one aspect of his story.

"You know Miss Goldstein."

Credence remembered her from the subway. More importantly, he remembered when she'd saved him. Imagine that: his first encounter with a genuine witch, and she'd _saved_ him. He remembered how Tina embraced him, how warm and gentle she had been. He remembered the faint smell of vanilla and pastry that wafted from her coat. He remembered her soft, soothing voice and the way she treated his lashes with such tenderness that Credence couldn't help but cry.

He remembered the kindness of her eyes, the look of someone who wanted nothing more than to help. Eyes just like Newt's.

Newt had brought him to the wizarding world, but Tina had been his first introduction to magic. Meeting her had stirred something long forgotten within him, something ancient and new altogether. It was the first time that he had thought in years that maybe, just… maybe, witches and magic weren't so bad.

And later that day, the baker's shop had been destroyed by a gas leak.

"Oh yes, Tina," Newt interrupted his reveries, "She sort of, erm, arrested me my first day there."

Credence gaped at Newt, who was giving him a sheepish, crooked grin.

"She—" he stammered, "She what?"

"The Niffler escaped and, _of course_ , I just happened to be standing outside a bank," Newt tapped his chin with the back of his thumb, "Come to think of it, that's where I first met you."

"We held a meeting there," Credence realized, "You talked to Ma."

"I was curious," he admitted sheepishly, "Still have one of those flyers somewhere down in the cabin, actually. Stuffed it in my pocket when I realized my Niffler was up to no good. Poor Jacob got mixed up in the whole fiasco too. See, you're not supposed to show off any magic to a Muggle and well…"

Newt puffed out his cheeks.

"Okay, to be fair, I did break the law when Tina got involved. But I was trying to fix it!"

"I can't believe it," Credence breathed, "I'm traveling with a criminal."

"Credence—"

"I think I need to go back home now," he ran a hand through his hair, "By any chance, does this boat stop off in America?"

"I—I don't think so," Newt stammered, "But, you don't have to do that—"

"Maybe I can live with Miss Goldstein instead. She can teach me magic, right?"

Newt looked alarmed for a moment, saying, "I mean, if that's what you really want."

But Credence just smiled.

"You're—you're being funny," Newt exhaled a deep breath, a startled laugh bursting forth, "I have to admit, you had me going for a bit there."

"Did I?" he said, "Glad all those acting lessons finally paid off then.

"I beg your pardon?"

Credence grinned.

It took a moment before realization dawned on him.

"Oh you—you—" Newt wagged a finger at him, "Fool me twice, Credence, fool me twice."

He laughed as the line moved forward and, this time, Credence joined him. However, it was short-lived.

"Miss Goldstein thinks I'm dead, doesn't she?"

Newt opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it.

"You didn't tell her?" Credence asked.

"Not without your permission."

Credence looked away.

How many people thought him dead? What did Chastity and Modesty think, or the orphaned children they housed and fed? Did they think him dead? Or did they think him simply on the run for the murder of—of Ma? MACUSA obviously thought they'd taken care of him. Perhaps even Mr. Graves thought him gone too.

"Can I ask you a question, Mr. Newt?"

He looked back at him, sincerity in his eyes.

"Always, Credence."

The waves churned underneath them, causing the ship to rock back and forth.

"What happened to Mr. Graves?"

Credence frowned and continued in a softer voice.

"I mean—I suppose his real name is Mr. Grindelwald, isn't it?" he remembered looking down at that newspaper he'd found in Diagon Alley, the cold mismatched eyes staring back at him, "He's a—a real bad man, Mr. Newt. And I—I helped him."

"Yes, he is a bad man," Newt responded softly "But you're not."

This was why he loved talking with him. Newt made him feel, for one precious moment, that he wasn't horribly naïve for not seeing through Grindelwald's lies sooner. Not once did his voice ever strike him with condemnation or sneer with disapproval. All that there was… was compassion and concern.

What had Grindelwald even wanted him for? Why had he wanted an Obscurial?

Why had he chanced crossing the vast ocean between them when everyone was searching for him? Why had he impersonated an Auror, instead of a secretary or a janitor that would've infinitely lessened his chances of getting caught? Why had he chosen to lurk about right underneath MACUSA's noses? Why had Grindelwald taken so many chances just to get _Credence_ on his side?

A warm hand clasped his shoulder.

"Credence, if you're not ready to hear about him, you don't have to push yourself," Newt said softly, "Give yourself some time. It's okay."

The line pushed from behind them.

Credence gripped onto his suitcase, involuntarily whisked away until he finally stepped foot onto the ship surrounded by hundreds of other boarded passengers. His heart pounded in his chest. This was his new start as a wizarding adventurer and the first feeling he had was _claustrophobia._

Wonderful.

"Mr. Newt," he latched onto his hand, not wanting to get lost, "Can we send Miss Goldstein a letter?"

"Of course," Newt said, until his eyes suddenly lit up like fireworks, "Unless…"

"Oh no. Is it too late to take back my question?"

"Yes," Newt grinned and was already pulling him in the direction of their cabin, "Follow me."

"Not much of a choice I have there," he drawled, not serious, "Do I, Mr. Newt?"

"Oh hush."

* * *

Flour coated Queenie's arms. She kneaded a fresh batch of cinnamon-raisin dough across the kitchen counter, her brows furrowed in concentration and her pink tongue jutting out from between her lips. She sprinkled a bit more flour across the board and flipped over the dough, starting the process anew.

No-Maj baking.

Harder than it looked.

The first time she'd cracked open a No-Maj recipe book, she'd positively gaped at how much time it took to bake something like a batch of cookies or a single loaf of bread. Hours replaced minutes, preparation sometimes taking days in the making. With magic, all that Queenie ever had to do was think of what she wanted and it'd appear seconds later, all hot and toasty. But the No-Maj way? Even with all that time and effort put into it, it wasn't even guaranteed to turn out right.

But Queenie wasn't no quitter.

Even if it was hard.

The Victrola Gramophone in the living room whirred to life.

 _"It had to be you, it had to be you_

 _I wandered around and finally found, that somebody who_

 _Could make be true_

 _Could make feel blue_

 _And even be glad just to be sad, thinking of you."_

A smile twinged at her lips.

Queenie dusted her hands across her apron and spun around, her rose-colored skirts whirling around with each and every step. She swayed with the music. Every beat, a step. Every note, an extension of her wrist. She hummed along to the tone, unable to keep herself from being taken completely away by the crooning voice dancing through her ears.

She closed her eyes, pretending she wasn't alone. She pretended that warm hands slipped into hers, leading her along through all the steps. She imagined staring into honeyed brown eyes, being enchanted by the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen in the world. She imagined being spun and dipped, all romantic-like like in the movies and being kissed ever so softly.

She imagined being with a man that she never could.

Her smile faded, her steps slowed.

 _"For nobody else gave me a thrill_

 _Will all your faults, I love you still_

 _It had to be you, wonderful you_

 _It had to be you…"_

She placed her fingers against her lips, the ghost of Jacob's lingering across hers. She could still feel him with her. His scent, his taste, his touch. Sometimes, she could even hear his laughter booming through the dining room and sending sparks shooting through her heart…

Queenie pulled out her wand and shut off the music with a sharp flick.

She leaned against the counter, hands pressed against her forehead.

"I was listening to that."

Queenie blinked back tears as Tina stepped into the kitchen and quickly returned to the dough, pressing down into it with her palm.

"I'm sorry, Teenie," she hummed quietly, having forgotten entirely about her sister's day off, "I didn't know you was here."

Tina remained silent. Her thoughts, however, did not.

 _I miss him too… But you and I both know he's never coming back. He **can't** come back. This has to stop, Queenie. I don't want to see your heart getting broken again._

Queenie bit her lower lip.

"You know… I thought your baking was perfect before," Tina ultimately settled on saying, "But I like it better this way."

"Don't cha?" Queenie beamed as she greased the baking pan, folding the dough neatly inside, "I like it too. I find adding that extra little bit of love really makes it shine."

"Mmm-hmm."

The atmosphere between them thickened, and it wasn't because Queenie had just opened the oven.

"Honey," she popped the bread inside and set the timer, "If you have something to say, please… just say it. It's nothing that I don't already know."

Tina crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the doorframe, "You bringing down another extra loaf to Jacob's bakery today? Or you gonna go tomorrow morning?"

Heat rose in Queenie's cheeks.

"You know about that?" she squeaked.

"I'm your sister," Tina drawled, "I know everything."

"Uh-huh, sure," Queenie huffed and puffed out her cheeks, "You certain you're not secretly a Legilimens too?"

"Now where would the fun be in that?" Tina smirked and pulled out a chair from the dining table, "You know that you can't tell him anything, right? It's important to me that you know this, Queenie. I don't want you getting into trouble."

Queenie looked down.

"I know."

"Because I'm required by law to report any instance of no-Maj's getting exposed to magic. And I mean, _any instance_ ," Tina emphasized, "I know you care for him, but I don't want to arrest my own sister."

"I know, I know," Queenie turned back around and leaned against the counter, "I just—I don't know… I miss him. Jacob wasn't like any man I'd ever met before, y'know. He made me _smile._ Nothing like the fake ones I give Wulfric down in Accounting. That dumb cheery sort of thing that all the boys love, not knowing I'm only doing it to make sure we get paid on time."

"I know."

Queenie shook her head, not wanting to dwell on the subject any longer. "Any news from Newt?"

"Ugh," Tina huffed, "Why would I be keeping tabs on him?"

"Because he's our friend, Teenie!" she wagged her finger at her disapprovingly, "It'd be nice to actually check in once in a while instead of staying up all night worrying about him."

"I don't stay up worrying over that man."

"Uh-huh, sure you don't."

A strange sound sputtered in the living room, the fireplace suddenly sparking to life.

Both women looked towards it.

"If it's Abernathy asking me to help him with his taxes again, tell him to go away," Tina groaned and leaned back in her chair, "I ain't doing that again."

"You got it," Queenie tittered, wavering her wand over her dress to make herself look more presentable as she made her way into the living room. She knelt down before the old fireplace and peered inside, jumping backwards at the familiar face flickering in the flames.

"Newt," Queenie gasped, happiness outweighing her momentary shock. Tina's head perked up from the kitchen. "How you doing, honey? Oh Teenie! Ain't this a wonderful surprise! We were just talking about you, dear, and what do you know, here you are!"

"What did you do now, Mr. Scamander?" Tina groaned, rubbing her temples, "Don't tell me more of your creatures escaped."

"That was a one-time occurrence, I assure you," Newt said, "One that I don't intend on ever happening again."

"Mmm-hmm, sure."

"Don't mind her, dearie," Queenie chimed in, "We just didn't expect you to make us a fire-call, is all. Is everything okay over there, honey? Did you make it back home all sweet and soundly?"

"Actually, this call isn't for me," Newt grinned awkwardly, "Although, thank you, Queenie. As a matter of fact, I did make it back home all safe and sound."

"Glad to hear it, honey," she tittered, "Now what's that about this call not being for you? You got a friend over there or something, dear?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

Now Tina's interest was officially piqued. She leaned dangerously over in her chair, inclining her ear to better hear the conversation over in the other room. "Newt, if you're doing anything illegal, you know that I'm obligated to report it."

"I'm not doing illegal," Newt's responded, chuffed, "It's just... hard to explain."

"Mmm-hmm, sure. What trouble are you in now, Mr. Scamander?"

"Just… one moment, please. This is something you need to see for yourself."

When Newt's face abandoned the fireplace, Tina shot Queenie an inquisitive – if not exasperated—look. But her sister merely shrugged in response, equally lost.

That was, until a familiar voice spoke.

"Miss Goldstein?"

Tina's chair toppled over.

She bolted to the fireplace, falling onto her hands and knees.

 _Credence._

Tina reached out to touch him, to reassure herself that he was real—that he was _alive_ , but remembered at the very last second that that would be unwise. He was there, sure. His uncanny visage flickered in fire, but he wasn't _here_. He wasn't where she could hold him, touch him, protect him from the world. No, he was wherever Newt was and that was far, far away from her grasp.

"Credence…" she clutched her hand to her heart instead.

"It's nice to see you again, Miss Goldstein."

"Oh," her voice warbled, "Sweetie, it's nice to see you again too."

Queenie looked between the face in the fireplace and Tina and politely excused herself. This was a private moment. One that she didn't dare to intrude.

"Credence… honey, you're alive," Tina blinked back tears, "You're alive."

He looked so… vibrant and healthy. Granted, she could only see so much through the flickering flames, but the transformation from when she'd saw him last was astounding. He no longer had that gaunt, fearful look about him. Those dark eyes were no longer hooded and his hair, once cropped short, was starting to grow out.

But those eyes…

Oh, those eyes.

So bright and inquisitive. The ghost of the meek, traumatized boy he once was still lingered within them, but there was something more there now. Something that wasn't there before. _Merlin's Pants_ , he was thriving. He didn't look like on the verge of death's door at all.

"How?"

Credence's gaze turned sheepish.

"I don't know, Miss Goldstein. I—I don't remember after—after what happened," his voice grew quieter. It stabbed like a knife through Tina's heart. "The only thing I know… is that I woke up on a ship, watching New York disappear behind the horizon. I don't know what happened or how I got there. I just… _was_. I was very lucky to find Mr. Newt there, otherwise I—I don't know what else I would've done."

Credence had been on _The Wailing Whirlwind?_ Merlin's beard, Tina had been on those docks! Did that mean that he was there, lost and afraid, while she was busy saying her goodbyes to Newt? Did that mean she'd been so close to saving him, but had just missed her chance? How many times was she going to fail him?

"Credence, I—I'm so sorry," her voice cracked with all the shame, all the 'what-ifs' and 'what-could-have-beens.' If only she had done more to save him. If only she had been a few minutes quicker. "I should've worked harder to help you. I should have been there. I—I should've done something, anything."

"It's okay, Miss Goldstein," Credence's voice dropped into such a soothing softness, one that she'd never heard from him before, that it caught her by surprise, "I know that—that you tried your best and that's all that matters. That's… all that I could have ever asked for. I'm thankful for all that you've done for me."

And then, Credence did the most miraculous thing.

He smiled.

It was small, barely there even. But, Merlin as her witness, it was a _smile._

Tina's breath hitched.

"Besides," Credence continued after a moment, "If it wasn't for you, I never would've found Mr. Newt. I'm—I'm his apprentice now. He's really nice and I'm—I'm doing okay here, really. I have so many books about magic, Miss Goldstein. I'm learning so much about witches and wizards and everything. I have my own wand and I—I cast my first spell too! I didn't even know I could do that."

"You're his apprentice," she breathed, "Rule 221 B12, of course."

"Rule 221 B12?"

"It's nothing, Credence," Tina smile, "Nothing you need to worry about."

But it meant everything.

Credence's continued existence was a major discovery—not just for Tina, but for MACUSA as well. Normally, after hearing something as enormous and consequential as this, she would've had to have immediately reported it to her superiors. An Obscurial that they'd failed to eliminate, who had previously colluded with Gellert Grindelwald, and who had fled overseas necessitated as such. But now?

Newt had found himself a loophole.

He had made Credence his apprentice.

With the advent of wizarding schools, classic apprenticeship had fallen out of practice. Only a few pure-blooded houses or those found in poor, rural areas that had little other option continued the long-standing tradition of assigning an older mentor to oversee their children's' magical education. It was a practice that dated back to the times of Merlin—further, even. But now that only a handful of respected witches and wizards implemented such a teaching structure, it had gone largely unregulated. The laws rarely changed.

And so, for thousands of years, Rule 221 B12 had remained frozen in place.

No wizarding government anywhere in the world could take legal action against a formally recognized apprentice because, regardless of age and prowess, they were still technically learning magic. If they did something blasphemous or commit horrendous atrocities, it was seen as the fault of the master instead of the student. Therefore, the master would receive punishment on behalf of their apprentice while the apprentice would be forcibly reeducated in the right and proper ways on how to be a wizard. It was a bit barbaric and outdated however…

Credence was protected underneath this rule.

Obscurial or not, he was protected.

"There's so much I want to say… so much I want to tell you. Most of all, I just want you to know that I'm so glad you're okay," Tina smiled into the fire, "Tell me more about what Newt had been teaching you. I want to know _everything_."

* * *

For the next hour, Tina Goldstein happily listened to everything that had happened in Credence's life since boarding _The Wailing Whirlwind_ and finding himself apprentice to one troublesome magizoologist Newt Scamander. Meanwhile Queenie Goldstein danced merrily in the kitchen, working on another loaf of cinnamon-raisin bread while the other baked. Neither witch was aware of the extra presence lingering just outside the living room window.

An enormous crow with a milky-white eye and jagged feathers looked on, perched on the windowsill amongst the yellow flowers and slowly dying herbs.

It watched and listened, nothing escaping its notice.

It had been stationed outside the Goldstein residence for two weeks now. They were important people that needed to be monitored 24/7 because they possessed information or access to information that could be used for the greater good, whether they realized it or not. What they knew could turn the tides of war. They were the key to victory, the heralders of a brand-new world.

But for two weeks, the crow had seen nothing except two extraordinarily dull witches moping around.

Feeling sorry for themselves.

Pathetic.

Queenie Goldstein was distraught over the loss of her Muggle paramour. She would spend her days mindlessly baking treats and pastries the Muggle way and dancing in circles to various Muggle love songs playing on their Gramophone.

Tina, on the other hand, was shaken over the death of the Obscurial boy that she had failed to protect. She tossed and turned at night, getting no more than an hour or two's worth of sleep before pulling on her coat and heading out Merlin-knows-where. She'd always return before sunrise, flopping tiredly onto the couch, bags under her eyes.

Two weeks of this madness and there had been _nothing_ that the crow could use.

Until now.

* * *

 **Please leave your comments and constructive criticisms below ! All comments, big and small, are welcome here !**

 **I'm also _edelweissroses_ on Ao3 and Tumblr.**


	9. Tell Me More, God of Thunder

"What are Occamies exactly?"

"Hmm," Newt continued rolling up his sleeves, "Didn't you already ask me that?"

"Yes," Credence said, flipping through a handful of Newt's notes that he'd brought with him, "I know about them, but I'm not so sure what they are. Bowtruckles are like—like insects and Krakens are a type of magical squid. The Niffler is obviously some sort of marsupial with a pocket dimension in his pouch, but Occamies? They're feathered reptilians. They're a bird and a snake, but also… not? Does that make sense?"

Newt hoisted the bucket of wiggling grubs he'd prepared earlier and headed out of the cabin towards the Occamy nest. Credence followed closely behind.

"You have a point there," he mused, "I suppose you could argue that Occamies are more closely related to magical beings than they are creatures. Did you know that there are accounts, back when their numbers were higher than it is now, that they would talk with nearby witches and wizards and offer food in exchange for a warm kettle?"

"I didn't."

"Magical beings are different from magical creatures, Credence. They display advanced thought and reasoning. They can communicate outside their own kind. It's because of this capability for intelligence that they're awarded certain rights and protections that magical creatures would never even be considered for."

Newt paused.

"Beings are also chimeric in nature. Take the centaurs or merfolk, for instance. You couldn't classify a centaur as human, now could you? But the second you insinuate that they're a horse, consider yourself kicked in the right shin," he said, "The same could be said of Occamies. They're not quite birds. They're not quite snakes. They just… _are."_

"Is that chimeric with a _k_ or chimeric with a _ch_?"

"Chimeric with a ch," Newt answered and peered around his shoulder, "Why do you ask?"

But he found his answer as Credence froze mid-note.

"I—I'm so sorry, Mr. Newt," Credence stuttered out, "I should have asked. I'm sorry. I'm so—so sorry."

Prudence fluttered anxiously at Credence's lapel and disappeared into his breast pocket where Pickett, still half-asleep and yawning, emerged shortly after. They climbed up Credence's vest together and wiped away the tears that fell down his cheeks. It seemed that Newt wasn't the only one hurt seeing him this way.

"Credence," he forced his voice to remain soft and calm, so as to not frighten him off, "Do you remember what I told you?"

"P—pardon?"

"What I said I would say if I was ever angry or upset?"

Credence stared at him like a deer in the headlights, blinking away tears.

"…Fizzle Whiskers?"

"Fizzle Whiskers," Newt repeated, "And have I said that world?"

"N—no."

"And that means?" he gently prodded.

Nothing would ever change unless Credence figured it out on his own: that he had nothing to be afraid of. Newt could guide him through recovery, helping him overcome his past and trauma. He'd do so gladly. But it was ultimately Credence and Credence alone who could help himself move forward.

"That—" Credence's hands stopped shaking, "That you're not… upset."

"Precisely," Newt smiled and continued down the dirt-covered path.

"I'm proud of you. I'm really glad that you're writing these things down, adding observations that I've missed," he said, "We can memorize facts and truths all we want, but they don't really matter until we write them down and share them with others. That's what magizoologists like us do."

"Magizoologists… like us?"

Newt looked back over his shoulder.

"Yes," he tapped his chin with the back of his thumb, "You're one of us now, Credence. That is… if you'd like to be."

Credence looked down, but there was the faintest trace of a smile there that made Newt's heart beat quicker.

"One of us…" he said quietly, "I like that."

Once they arrived at the nest, Newt set down the tub of grubworms and wiped away the sweat that had gathered on his brow.

"Hello darlings," he greeted the immediately curious Occamy nestlings. They slithered over and around each other, trying to peer inside the bucket that Newt had brought them. "Mummy has a special treat for you this morning. I know, I know. It's been awhile."

He scooped a handful of grubworms and tossed them inside. The nestlings acted like a hungry school of piranhas, fighting over each other for the fattest, juiciest treat.

"Careful," Newt chided, "There's plenty to go around."

He tidied up their nest while they ate, patching up holes and cleaning up their droppings. Plucked feathers and anything of the sort could be left behind. It added padding to the nest, but he still wanted to ensure that it was sanitary enough for the nestlings. At least, by Occamy standards.

"Credence?" he asked, sweeping up a pile of sticks and leaves, "Could you come over here, please?"

A shadow loomed over him.

"Yes, Mr. Newt?"

"Could you finish feeding the Occamies for me while I tidy up here?"

Credence clutched Newt's notes against his chest, eyes blowing wide and nervous, "I—I don't think you really want me to do that."

"Of course I do. That's why I asked," Newt furrowed his brows, "Unless you're squeamish around bugs? It's fine if you are."

Pickett stood up on Credence's shoulders and squeaked.

"N—no, I like insects," he looked down at the bowtruckle, "Honest."

Pickett stared at him intensely before sitting back down with a huff.

"I just—I want to make sure," Credence hesitated, "You really love your creatures, Mr. Newt, and I'm not exactly the best… y'know. Are you—Do you really want to give me that responsibility?"

Oh.

"Of course, I do," Newt offered his hand, "You're one of us now, right?"

Credence looked down between them and stuck Newt's notes inside his coat pocket. He slipped his hand into his.

"Right," he smiled shakily, "One of us."

Newt beamed.

"I'm going to walk you through this, if that's alright. If you change your mind, it's okay to back out," he brought him over to the bucket and knelt down, "Righty then. I'm going to have you dip your hand inside, but I don't want you to grab anything. Squeezing these guys will only make them burst and then all you'll have is juicy grub goo all over your fingers and a couple of hungry Occamies."

"Wouldn't want that," Credence said softly.

"Right," Newt continued, guiding his hand into the bucket, "So, you're going to form your hand into a scoop. Gently lift it out…and then _, throw!"_

Grubworms cascaded from the air into the Occamies nest, the nip-napping creatures greedily devouring their meal within a matter of seconds.

"Wonderful!" Newt praised, genuinely meaning it too, and stood up, "Just do that until the bucket is empty. In the meantime, I'll be back shortly. I forgot something in the cabin. I'll only be a second."

"What?" Credence's head whipped up, alarmed, "Mr. Newt, are you sure you want me to—"

"Relax, Credence. You'll do fine," he smiled, "I trust you."

* * *

 _"I trust you."_

Credence's heart sang.

Newt trusted him. Perhaps even more unbelievable than that, Newt trusted him with the care of his creatures. Credence tossed more grubworms into the air to the famished Occamies and watched them absolutely devour each and every one until nothing remained behind. He threw handful after handful, until his fingertips touched the plastic bottom. Empty.

Once the Occamies realized that there was no more food to be had, all their eyes became locked onto Credence.

Prudence anxiously fluttered at his lapel.

"Don't worry," Credence softly assuaged and stood up, "I won't let them eat you.

One of the Occamies squawked.

"You are _not_ ," he repeated, more firmly this time around, "Prudence is a friend. Even so, she wouldn't taste any good since she's… y'know, made out of paper."

With that being said, he reached down for the empty bucket.

Within a flash, the Occamy—the one that had squawked at him—slid up his arm.

Credence froze. Feathers and scales together slithered across his skin, constricting around his neck. He didn't dare move a muscle as the Occamy inspected him and the paper butterfly now fluttering rapidly at his lapel. That was until the Occamy let out a great big sniff, glaring at him in disappointment.

"Told you," Credence breathed out in relief and went to pet the top of the creature's head. However, when the Occamy quickly tensed up, he dropped his hand instead underneath its beak so that it could see and inspect it.

"See? There's nothing to be afraid of," he said softly when the Occamy dropped its head and sniffed his wrist, "I'm not gonna hurt you."

After a moment that lasted forever, it arched its head into his hand.

"The body of a snake and the feathers of a bird… but you have the entire personality of a cat," he mused aloud, slowly running his fingers through the Occamies soft iridescent feathers. A beautiful shining mirage of color that warmed his heart and made him feel like… like _home._

Prudence crawled onto his cheek.

"Okay, okay," Credence leaned down, sliding the Occamy back into its nest, "I'm putting them down now, see? Don't worry. You're not going to be eaten."

Right when he finally grabbed the empty bucket, a vibrant flash of light blinded him. Credence stumbled backwards and rubbed his eyes, but when he turned back around, whatever had caused it was gone. Weird. He shook his head and went to return to the cabin.

But he had scarcely taken a step when he noticed that Newt had returned.

He hadn't announced his presence, so Credence wasn't sure how long he'd been there. But there Newt was, sitting on the ground cross-legged, leather journal balanced between them. Huh. He'd never seen that one before, which was strange all-things-considered since Credence had become fairly accustomed with all things Newt. Well, whatever it was he was doing, he looked completely immersed in it. His brows had risen into his forehead, his lips pursed into a straight line, all while scribbling a piece of charcoal across the page.

It was nice seeing him like this. So quiet. So relaxed.

The way the sunlight reflected off his hair really illuminated the golden strands hidden within that untamable mop of auburn, enshrouding his face in a divine halo. He looked like an angel. Or rather, one trapped in human form. Normal at first glance, but ultimately unable to hide their divinity. It felt positively heathenistic to look at him for too long.

They locked eyes.

Newt slammed the journal shut with a loud snap.

"C—Credence!" he bolted up, "How long—how long have you been standing there?"

He looked like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. And Credence should know, he'd caught Modesty doing it almost every night. That was, before she bribed him with half a ginger snap not to tell.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing. Just uhm—Just taking some notes on… erm, Dougal. Right! Dougal," Newt quickly shoved the leather journal behind his back, "Nothing to see here. Just doing your usual magizoologist type things. Nothing out of the normal."

Credence arched a brow.

"Dougal?"

"Yes, Dougal," Newt gestured over his shoulder, "The Demiguise perched next to the Occamy nest?"

Credence looked behind him and found nothing but empty space.

"Mr. Newt," he drawled, "Have you thought about glasses?"

"He's invisible. Well… when he wants to be," Newt puffed out his cheeks, "Dougal? Dougal, could you be a lamb and introduce yourself to Credence?"

Right then and there, a creature with drooping white fur and great, big golden eyes, appeared within an iridescent shimmer of light. It stared at Credence, slowly raising its hand and wriggling each of its fingers one by one.

Credence stepped backwards.

"Don't worry. Dougal's extremely docile, and gives the best hugs, if I might add," Newt stepped beside him, twirling a strand of auburn hair, "He's the acting nanny for the Occamies and I think… he was watching you feed them. I was just documenting his behavior, is all."

"O—oh."

Well, didn't he look like the fool? His cheeks burned.

"Well then, if we're all finished here," Newt paid his embarrassment no mind and took the empty bucket from him, "Shall we move onto the next thing on the agenda?"

He grinned.

"How would you like to learn your first bit of magic?"

* * *

Newt had no idea what he was doing.

Funny how often that thought was becoming.

It wasn't as if he wasn't used to teaching magic. Oh no, on the contrary, he'd had years of practice with that. The only problem was that _he_ had been the student. His half-finished education had been supplemented by testing out new spells while dragons breathed down his neck or after being chased by a pack of rampaging rougarou. He'd read through textbooks and practiced all that he could, sure.

But teaching himself was far different from teaching someone else.

"You've been consulting your _Standard Book of Spells?"_

"Yes," Credence nodded, sitting all prim and proper in front of him, "Every night."

"And?" Newt asked, "What have you learned?"

"I—I have my notes somewhere," he frowned, looking over his shoulder, "I can get them—"

"Off the top of your head is fine," Newt said with a smile, "This isn't a test, Credence. I just want to know what you remember. It's okay if you get something wrong."

"Well… uhm…" Credence's hands clenched and unclenched, "Magic is… It's like a well. Every time we cast a spell, it's like pulling up a pail-full of water. The well will eventually refill, but when you use too much of it all at once, it can be draining. But it's also bad to not drink the water at all, which is why we use magic even when we don't—when we don't really need to… is that right?"

"That's right," Newt said, "And what's the purpose of a wand?"

"If magic is like a well… then the wand is like a river," Credence answered, more confident and sure of himself this time around, "Magic rises from inside the wizard and flows down the arm into the wand, reacting with the core, before being released."

"And why is what the wand is made of important?"

"Because if the wand doesn't connect right with the wizard then the energy can't get through," he said, "The spell will just backfire or explode."

Newt leaned back on his hands.

"You're very good at remembering things."

Credence looked down.

"I just want to know everything I can…" he hesitated, "I have—I have a lot to catch up on."

"I know," Newt frowned, shaking his head, "You're working hard, Credence. Harder than I ever did when I was a student. And it shows."

He opened his leather sketchbook to the back pages, where he tested out colored inks and new cartons of pastels, and ripped them out. He set the parchment between them, tearing them into thirds.

"I have to give you credit. You did extraordinarily well on your first _Reparo,_ but… you used my wand for it. Turns out you're compatible with it, but next time you might not be so lucky. So, I highly recommend against using anyone's wand except yours in the future," Newt advised, "Watch what I do and repeat."

He slipped his wand from his sleeve.

"Guide your wand through the air. Tell it what to do and trust that it will do it. Concentrate on the feeling washing through you and…" Newt pointed his wand at the parchment, " _Reparo._ "

The paper stitched itself together with a zap, looking exactly as it had been moments before.

"Your turn," Newt slipped his wand back inside his sleeve, "Take it slow. It's not about whether you can or can't do it. You've done the spell before. I want you to focus on the _feeling_ instead."

Credence nodded and closed his eyes.

Newt watched him.

Inhale.

And exhale.

There weren't many opportunities available to him to look at Credence this up close. The wizard liked making himself seem small, looking at the ground or trailing just behind Newt's shadow. Not to say that wasn't slowly changing as Credence became more and more accustomed with freedom. Oh no, not at all! In fact, he was making great strides – quicker than even he could have predicted. The point was…Newt hadn't noticed until this precise moment that Credence's hair was staring to _curl._

" _Reparo._ "

The ripped pieces of paper that remained between them stitched themselves back together, but that was only the beginning. Dried ink and swatches of colored pigment lifted from the pages, its aged yellow appearance brightening to a crisp ivory until it looked as new as the day Newt bought it, however many years ago that was.

He'd used too much magic.

Credence opened his eyes.

"How did that feel?" he inquired.

Credence's eyes shimmered with bottled moonlight, practically trembling with equal parts excitement and awe.

"It was… different. From before, I mean," he answered, voice shaking, "Last time, when I was using your wand, I had to focus really hard to cast that spell. It was like… I was pushing past a barrier that didn't want to give. But now… it didn't resist at all, like the barrier wasn't even there."

Newt's brows furrowed.

"And how are your magical reserves?"

"Not a drop missing."

Newt sucked in a breath.

Normally, releasing that much magical energy to return something to that pristine of condition would've made anyone feel an effect. Merlin, even the great Albus Dumbledore would've at least felt a twinge. If Credence barely felt a thing… well, it was no wonder he had survived this long with an Obscurus. It could gorge itself to its hearts content and still have plenty left over.

A sudden gust of wind blew the parchment away.

Credence stuffed his wand inside his coat and rose to his feet, "Don't worry. I'll get it."

However, Newt recognized the direction the pages were going and sprung up, "Credence, _wait._ "

But he disappeared behind the tent flap into the dark, winter terrain.

* * *

Credence stared into the swirling ball of captured midnight, papers in hand.

Something about it… Something about it sparked a _feeling_ of familiarity within him. And it wasn't because it resembled one of those crock-psychic crystal balls lining store-front windows downtown. No, this was something… personal, intimate. The Obscurus clawed against his ribcage and squeezed his heart, begging for a release that Credence refused to give.

Newt quietly entered the tent behind him.

"That's an Obscurus," Credence surprised himself with the hollowness of his voice.

"…yes."

"It's smaller than mine."

"Yes."

"Is…," Credence swallowed over the mysterious lump in his throat, "Is there a person inside there?"

"…no."

His stomach turned. Vomit crawled up his throat. The Obscurus slammed against his bones, begging for freedom. It tore his muscles to shreds and eviscerated everything that came into reach of its claws. It wanted _out out out—_

But Credence endured it.

"You separated it," every word was a chore, "But they can't exist without each other. So that means—that means…"

 _Oh God._

"…I thought that if I used the right spell… then maybe I could save her. I was desperate. She was out of time," Newt's voice was so quiet that Credence had to turn around and face him in order to register what he was saying, "…I was too late. I failed. I—I failed and _she_ suffered for it."

"Is that what's going to happen to me?" Credence asked and Newt jumped.

" _Absolutely not!_ "

"But you don't know for sure, do you?"

Newt didn't answer.

It was true then. Credence had always known deep down that he was living off borrowed time, but it hadn't entirely clicked until he was forced to face what could possibly be his future. Stuck in the cold, an eternity of rage and pain.

Alone.

As far as he knew, any day now could be his last.

"Am I going to die?"

Newt looked him in the eye.

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

His voice held such strong conviction in it that Credence shuddered. Or maybe that was just the cold.

"I _will_ help you, Credence," he continued, "Even if it's the last thing I do, I'll help you figure this out. I won't let you die."

The Obscurus quieted.

Credence stepped forward and took his hand.

"I know."

* * *

Journeying from New York to England had seemed endless, but the trip from England to France? Well, now that was a breeze.

Credence thanked God for that.

The sheer compactness of the passenger ship had made him feel trapped—caged, even—and every little bump and twist made his breakfast crawl up his throat. When they'd briefly hit rough waters, Credence had found his refuge next to a bucket.

After that, he'd spent nearly every waking moment inside the suitcase. He peeled raw potatoes for Dougal, spared the occasional knut and sickle for the Niffler, and wandered out into the Mooncalves enclosure for no other reason than they were cute. He patched up holes in the Occamies nest, watched Newt dive into the Kraken's tank to clean it up, and practiced magic.

And every night, before he went to bed, he wandered into the arctic terrain and spent time with the host-less Obscurus.

It's just… there was something about it that sparked this agonizing sense of loneliness inside him. Every time he gazed upon that miserable, little orb, he felt like he would fall to pieces. He never wanted to see it again.

And it was precisely because of that feeling that he visited as often as he could.

Talking with it.

Telling it about his day.

Telling it about everything that he'd done.

Telling it about everything that he'd learned.

Telling it about the fear in his heart.

And he swore, it listened.

"We'll be remaining here while I arrange for a couple of overnight trains going Southcoast," Newt planned aloud, weaving effortlessly through the packed Parisian crowds, "Couple weeks here, couple days traveling. I think we'll be able to make it before the winter chill comes in. That'd be ideal. Kraken hatchlings do most of their growing during summer and—"

Credence didn't pay attention, struggling to keep up. Carrying his suitcase long distance rubbed his scars in all the wrong ways, making them grow puffy and red with irritation. He switched to carrying it with both hands.

"Laurent de Laurent owns a townhouse nearby. Used to stay there whenever I'd come down to visit—ah, that doesn't matter," Newt said, seemingly oblivious to Credence's plight, "He rents out the front rooms as a bed and breakfast for Muggle tourists, but he reserves the backrooms for wandering wizards. Like us!"

He glanced behind him and looked thoughtful for a moment before offering Credence his hand, "We're about to go down into the metro. I don't want you to get lost."

"I appreciate the offer," Credence held up his suitcase, "But I can't carry this with one hand."

"Oh! Let me help."

"You don't have to do that—"

But Newt had already slipped his hand around the handle, lifting half the burden off of Credence's shoulders. His scars still ached. That much remained the same. But having someone share the strain… well, that wasn't so bad at all, now was it?

He smiled.

"Thank you."

Meanwhile, a shadow within a shadow disappeared down the dark alleyways. There was flash of apothic green flame one second, and was gone the next.

All was well on the streets of Paris.

* * *

Rain pitter-pattered against the bedroom window.

Credence turned a page.

He'd already reached Chapter Four in _The History of Magic,_ which was impressive considering that it had taken over 500 pages to get there.

Credence plucked up a blueberry from the bowl of fruit he'd brought to bed and raised it to his hair where Pickett quickly snatched it from him and gobbled it up quicker than you could say _Fiddlesticks._

"You're insatiable," he laughed softly and plopped a halved strawberry into his own mouth, saying around it, "Take it slow, or you might bite my finger off next time.

Pickett blew him a raspberry.

"Rude."

He turned another page and glanced over at Newt, sleeping in the bed across from him.

Newt often preferred sleeping in the cabin, close to his creatures. It was habit, Newt had said when Credence inquired why. He'd gone for so long living out in the field, where the only roof over his head provided was the one in his suitcase, that he'd just gotten used to the routine. That and he hadn't wanted to pressure Credence with sleeping around a total stranger when his world was already in such an upended state.

So, when Credence insisted that he didn't mind at all, Newt… _stayed._

He'd never seen him sleep before.

Newt cocooned himself in the threadbare quilt, his pinkened cheek pressed flat against his pillow. His lips parted and the faintest bit of drool dribbled down his chin.

The wind outside quickened, the rain growing louder and pelting the window like miniature water bullets.

Pickett pulled at his hair.

"Do that again," Credence warned, "And I won't give you anything else for the rest of the night."

Pickett pulled at his hair again, harder.

"Alright, that's it," he carefully plucked the bowtruckle from his hair and put him down onto the blanket, "Off to bed you go."

Pickett made a run for the bowl, but Credence was already one step ahead of him and grabbed it, holding it out of reach.

"I warned you, didn't I?" he set it aside on the nightstand, "I'm not rewarding your bad behavior. When you can ask nicely, only then will I give you more berries."

He stuck an emerald bookmark between the textbook pages and set it on top of the bowl, so that Pickett couldn't get into it during the night. He quickly cast a quiet _Nox,_ and slipped his wand underneath his pillow before finally laying down to sleep.

Prudence nestled next to him.

Lightning crashed, illuminating the bedroom.

Newt bolted up in bed, eyes as wide as dinner plates, and fell onto the floor.

"Mr. Newt?" Credence sat up, "Are you alright?"

Newt flinched and stumbled backwards into the dresser. He gazed from underneath the pile of arms and legs at Credence, as if suddenly remembering that he wasn't alone. He opened his mouth to speak however, right at that precise moment, the thunder outside boomed and cracked, interrupting any possible answer that he might have received. Newt slammed his hands against his ears with a shout and buried his face between his legs, rocking back and forth.

Credence rose to his feet, alarmed.

"Mr. Newt?"

Newt hummed a tuneless song to himself, sounding almost like the static that came over the radio when the scheduled programming finished for the day. Was he trying to drown out the noise? Was he scared of thunderstorms?

Credence had been frightened of them too back when he was younger, before becoming responsible for others. Children from the orphanage had often found refuge in his bedroom from the howling winds and booming noise. He'd rubbed hundreds of shaking backs, whispering soothing words into their ear and reassuring them that everything would be alright. There was nothing to be afraid of even if the sights and sounds were scary.

But this… this seemed different.

Credence's feet moved on their own. He grabbed Newt's scarf from the dresser and crouched down low beside him.

"…Newt?" he asked softly, "Can I come over there?"

Newt opened an eye, the fear inside palpable.

"It's okay," Credence lowered his voice even more, trying to be gentle and understanding despite not knowing what was going on. All he knew was that his friend was in trouble, and he couldn't just stand by and watch. "I won't come nearer if you don't want me to. Whatever you need… I just want to help."

Newt didn't respond.

Instead, he stretched out an arm, and pointed at the bundle in Credence's arms.

The scarf disappeared the second he held it out to him. Newt quickly wrapped the faded fabric around his neck, looping a second around his ears, making the end result look like a war-torn dental patient after four consecutive root canals but… he looked better. His shoulders relaxed and the humming stopped.

Until the lightning crashed again, louder and closer this time around. Newt jumped into Credence's arms. He placed Credence's hands over his ears so that he doubled—tripled if counting the scarf—his protection against the noise.

"K—Keep," Newt breathed through his nose, as if every word was a struggle, "Keep those there. Please."

"Of course," Credence said quietly, "Anything."

Every breath came out ragged and pained.

"I'm not—I'm not scared of thunderstorms."

"I know. I figured as much."

A smile. Small and quivering, but still there.

"Expected nothing less," Newt murmured, "But still. This—this must seem strange to you."

"Yes."

"Then why aren't you asking why?"

"Because you'll tell me if you want to," Credence responded, soft and genuine, "I'm not going to pry if you don't want me to."

Newt didn't respond. Instead, his fingers tapped restlessly against the tops of his, the humming having returned anew. Everything about him screamed vulnerability. Everything about him cried out for—for _something_ , anything to make whatever it was that he was dealing with _stop._

It was in that moment that Credence realized just how human Newt was. Of course, he knew that. But, all this time, he'd been putting him up on a pedestal and looked up at him like some sort of god—a savior. He walked the shadows as Newt trailblazed forwards, not a care in the world. But he was just a person like everyone else. Even the strongest people needed help sometimes.

And right now, Newt needed him.

"If it's alright with you… could we lay down? My bed's right there," Credence asked softly, "I—I can't hold my arms up like this for too long."

Newt emitted a low noise.

Credence furrowed his brows.

"I… don't understand."

"…Talking…" he said between clenched teeth, sweat dripping down his forehead, "…talking…hard…"

Oh.

"Tap once for yes, twice for no," Credence said, "Can you do that?"

He tapped once against his knuckles.

"Perfect," Credence beamed, pleased with his suggestion, "Is it okay if we move us backwards?"

Another tap.

"Okay, I'm moving now. Let me know if you change your mind."

With immense difficulty, Credence maneuvered them onto the bed. The simple act proved harder than he thought, trying to walk backwards with his hands pressed against the sides of Newt's face; but, they managed. When they finally laid down together, Newt's eyes had slammed shut. Tremors coursed through him. He curled up into the crook of Credence's neck, his fingers tracing the scars across his knuckles over and over in odd repetition.

"Is this alright?"

A tap.

"Is there anything else I can do to help?"

Two in quick succession.

"Okay," Credence said quietly, "Anything you need… I'm here for you."

Time stood still, or at least, it seemed like it. Nothing else existed outside of Newt's repetitive caresses and the thunderstorm raging outside. It could have been an hour. It could have been five minutes. Either way, it seemed like an eternity when the rain finally stopped and was replaced by night's silence. Credence could literally see the tension leaving Newt's shoulders.

A collective sigh washed across the bedroom.

Newt remained there for a moment, still and silent. His labored breaths grew quieter and quieter. The gentle sweeping of his fingers slowed to a stop. Credence nearly thought him asleep and was self-occupied with the thought on how to remove the blankets out from underneath them when Newt finally spoke.

"…I don't take too kindly to loud, unexpected noises."

Credence remained quiet.

"It's… manageable when I have some idea of what to expect. Did you know that I actually like the sound of rain? When I had Frank, I'd sometimes go out to his enclosure just to listen to the sound of thunder. But when I don't see it coming…" Newt grimaced, "It's indescribable. The closest I can get is like a cross between a lightning strike and walking face-first into a spiderweb. And it just… _doesn't stop."_

"That sounds painful."

"It is."

Credence frowned.

"The scarf helps. A lot. When I rub it up against my ears, I can hear the scratching and I can focus on that instead. I usually like the feel of it too, but your hands—" he trailed off and finally opened his eyes, heavy with exhaustion, "How did you know to get it for me?"

"Hortencia."

"Ah Orti," Newt smiled, "Always looking out for my peculiarities."

"It's not strange," he said softly, "Or peculiar. You're just… you."

Newt didn't respond.

Instead, his eyes fluttered shut. He slowly slipped off his scarf from around his neck, gathering it up in his arms and tucking it underneath his head in a makeshift pillow. Credence took advantage of that opportunity to pull out the blanket from underneath them and drape it over.

He didn't mind sharing his bed tonight. In fact, the moment Newt had stumbled out of bed and looked up at him with those wide, frightened eyes of his, Credence had all but resigned himself to it. He might have even preferred it to sleeping alone, if he was being perfectly honest with himself. He had shared a bed with Chastity back when they were younger. And, when Modesty came along, she'd often sneak under the blankets after a nightmare—either his or hers. Every winter, both sisters would bunk with him, gathering up their blankets to conserve what little warmth they had. Credence honestly couldn't remember a time when he went to bed alone. Until now, that was.

But then again, he wasn't alone. Not really.

"Credence?"

He looked down at him.

"Yes, Newt?"

"Hmm," he smiled, half-asleep, "Finally dropped the _Mister_ , have you?"

Credence flushed.

"I—" he pressed his face into his pillow, "I suppose. Friends don't—they don't address each other so formally. If it makes you uncomfortable though—"

"No, I like it."

Newt's breathing grew softer and softer, beginning to doze off.

"Can I ask you a question?" he said.

"Anything."

"What happened to your hands?"

Credence sat up.

"You don't have to answer," Newt murmured, his kind meadow green eyes opening only to flutter shut seconds later, "It's just… you hold them a lot. And you—you shift your suitcase between them and… I like the way they feel. I like holding your hand. But if they hurt…"

The rain plinked against the windows, remnants of a storm that had all but passed.

"Ma would punish me whenever I did something bad," he swallowed, "Or whenever I took the blame for my sisters so that they wouldn't have to go through it."

Credence slowly laid back down and tucked his hands underneath his cheek. Newt's cheeks had grown pink again and his mouth hung open just the faintest bit. He wasn't sure if he would remember this in the morning, whether this was a genuine inquiry or a sleep-driven conversation of the unconscious. But somehow… Credence didn't care.

Because this needed to be said. He needed to acknowledge what had happened to him. Maybe then, and only then, could he move forward.

"She would hold out her hand and I'd—I'd remove my belt. We'd go upstairs to the balcony and I would—she would give me thirteen lashes," he said quietly, "She said since the Savior endured the thirteen strokes of a whip, then I could too. Only this way could I—could I repent."

His palms ached.

"The hands were to hold the weight of our sins. To remember what had been done, and how to learn from it," he frowned, "They're ugly, I know. And I know that I'm—that I'm weak. Pathetic. I used to get so... _scared_ when I'd have to go up those stairs. I'd cry for hours and hours later."

"Credence, your perseverance isn't a weakness. Feeling fear doesn't mean you aren't brave," Newt murmured, "You didn't deserve anything that happened to you. But… it still _happened._ And you volunteered to endure something horrible so that your sisters would not. To be afraid and still push forward, knowing what is to come, isn't a weakness, Credence. It's a _strength._ "

Newt smiled a little, "I think they're beautiful. Your scars. They show how strong you are. You really are amazing and I—I hope you know that."

And with that, Newt was asleep.

* * *

Porpentina Goldstein's footsteps—strong yet timid, holding distinctive power and authority yet reluctant to use it—resounded through the empty halls, echoing loudly even down in MACUSA's supermax holding cells. Grindelwald had learned early on how to distinguish Tina's footsteps from the others, long before he'd gotten caught. It'd been prudent to know when she was about to interrupt a meeting and annoy him.

Even if he had any doubt as to the footsteps source (which he didn't), the pungent aroma of Coney Island hotdogs lathered in mustard and relish always followed her around like her own personal, stomach-turning perfume. He much preferred it when she smelled like vanilla or powdered sugar. That way, he could also expect Queenie to make her rounds around the office bringing everyone cookies and cupcakes.

He could devour an entire batch of strawberry ones any day.

The door to his cell opened.

A metal chair was dragged inside and his interviewer for the day (or would it be torturer?) situated herself in it, one leg crossed over the other.

He smiled charmingly and greeted her with a polite nod, "Ms. Goldstein."

"Mr. Grindelwald."

"I would normally prefer standing like a gentleman before the lady takes her seat but…" Grindelwald attempted to raise his hands, magical restraints quickly pulling them down back into position, "It seems I'm unable to rise to the occasion. I hope you don't take my impoliteness to heart."

"Hardly," Tina rebuffed his charms and opened the files in her lap, "But if you really wish to repay me for your rudeness, you could start by telling me why you're here."

"I'm appalled by the state of your education system," he tsked, "You see, when my mother met my father—"

"That's not the question I'm asking, Mr. Grindelwald."

"Is it not?" he arched his brows in mock-surprise, looking around the otherwise empty cell as if surveying an imaginary audience, "You asked me why I'm here. I'm merely giving you a response."

"You know very well what I meant," Tina droned.

"Do I now?"

"What made you come to New York?"

There it was. The big question. The one that all who entered his cell eventually asked.

"There was something that I could only find here," he hummed, "An Obscurial. What was his name again?"

Grindelwald smiled, all teeth and no compassion. Much like the cat that caught the bird, playing with its dinner before going in for the final strike.

"Credence?"

Tina bristled.

"You're fooling no one, Mr. Grindelwald. You and I both know that that plan was just too simple for a man of your caliber," she flipped through the file, hands shaking in either rage or fear, "You wouldn't bet everything you've worked so hard on for an Obscurial that wasn't guaranteed to live for more than a couple days at most. You're up to something."

She met his eye, cold and unfeeling. It sent shivers down his spine.

"And I intend to stop it."

"Clever, clever witch," Grindelwald hummed, "What makes you think that?"

"You practically threw away your cover when we lost Cre—the Obscurial," she said, "And you surrendered yourself to our custody far too easily. Don't think you've pulled the wool over my eyes, Mr. Grindelwald, there's no way you've given up the fight that easily—"

"No," he leaned forward, leering, "What makes you think you can stop me?"

Tina froze.

What was MACUSA thinking sending her down here?

"As I said before, you're a clever witch, Ms. Goldstein," Grindelwald leaned back in his chair, looking at his nails, "I'm sure you can figure it out. You don't need me to tell you what I intended. Now, where's Reginald? I do believe he's supposed to be coming around with lunch sometime soon."

"I'm not finished here."

"Oh, but _I_ am," he tutted, "You have all the answers you seek in that cute little file of yours there. All you need to do is _look_. Until next time, Ms. Goldstein."

Tina ground her teeth together. She stood up, thanked him for his cooperation, and stormed out.

Moments later, a man arrived carrying a tray of food.

"Finally," Grindelwald sniffed after the noxious scent of hotdogs disappeared, "I can breathe again. I'd be half-tempted to spill all my secrets if she only brushed her teeth after lunch. Blech. So, what do you have for me today, Hugin?"

"A bologna sandwich and milk, sir."

"Always with the bologna," he wrinkled his nose and remained still as Hugin removed his bonds, "Please tell me it has Mustard, at least. It's been a while since we've had any of that."

"Sorry," Hugin rasped, "No Mustard."

"Not even Strawberry Cream on the side?"

"No Strawberry Cream either."

Grindelwald pinched the bridge of his nose. All of Tina's efforts at getting information out of him had been fruitless, and now it seemed, so had his. If the lunchroom didn't get any _Mustard_ or _Strawberry Cream_ soon, then he'd just have to withdraw his request altogether. What a pity.

"Hugin—"

"That isn't to say, though…" he interrupted. His scarred lips pulled into a twisted smile as Hugin focused his gaze—golden in one eye, milky white in the other—onto him. "…that we don't have dessert."

Oh?

"Do tell."

"I bring you a tale from the North," he said, "A tale of Odin—God of All and True Ruler of Asgard—and his crows Hugin and Munin having caught sight of a demonic beast made of twilight and anger plaguing the good folk of Midgard."

Another Obscurus?

Grindelwald leaned forward, "Go on."

"I feel that I must forewarn you, sir, since this is a tale similar to one that I've told before," Hugin seated himself in the chair that Tina had left behind. He swiftly unbuttoned his jacket, denoting all the refinement of a pureblood of wealth and fortitude, and crossed his legs over the other, "For the beast is one that Odin had faced before. A beast once thought lost, defeated."

He steepled his hands together.

"But now travels along the shadow of a Beastmaster, growing in power."

Credence.

Credence was _alive._ Not only that, he was _thriving._

"Interesting," Grindelwald reclined in his seat and tapped his chin, resembling more of a throned king with a crown and scepter in hand than a shackled prisoner, "Tell me more."

* * *

 **Please leave your comments and constructive criticisms below ! All comments, big and small, are welcome here !**

 **I'm also _edelweissroses_ on Ao3 and Tumblr.**

 **(( This went from two chapters, to nine chapters in like... 5 seconds lol. I had a bunch edited laying around and I've just been forgetting to post them here ! But they're here now, and I hope you enjoy ! ! ! ) )**


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